Never Look Back
by Nevermore
Summary: Ten years after the siege at Terminal City, Alec is still searching for ways to put the past behind him. (Complete.)
1. He Who Forgets the Past

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended. 

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**Author's Notes:** I know, I wrote that I wouldn't be writing in this fandom anymore. I hadn't meant to, and then I was thinking about what might come of the characters about which I'd already had so much fun writing. So I started "one last short story." Well, this short story is already way longer than I'd envisioned and has enough backstory for me to write one or two fairly well developed sequels. (And if a no-talent hack like me can come up with that much story, I think it makes one wonder what the hell the series' writers were doing during Season 2.) 

This story is **Rated R** for language and content. Don't give me crap about offensive content – if you're sensitive, just don't read this. 

_Never Look Back_ takes place approximately 10 years after the events of Dark Angel's last episode, _Freak Nation_. 

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**Never Look Back**

by 

**Nevermore**

**He Who Forgets the Past**

"Is this seat taken?" a young woman asked. Alec simply waved an inviting hand, not even bothering to look at the beaten-up barstool sitting next to him. He wasn't interested in the alluring female who now hung threateningly close to his personal space. Had she been larger (or male) he might have made some type of threat assessment; but a petite, mid-twenty-something woman didn't concern him enough to draw his attention away from the scotch in his glass. 

_The half-empty glass,_ he noted sadly. _Or half-full._ He was tempted to follow that train of thought, but chased it away. It'd been years since he'd indulged in the folly of self-analysis, attempting to determine whether he was a pessimist or optimist. _Besides, that's a stupid test,_ he decided. _Half-empty, half-full – it doesn't matter. Half-anything is useless. Half-hearted, half-baked, half-ass, half-way done…_ He shook his head, mentally dodging yet another uncomfortable thought. _The_ uncomfortable thought. 

_Half-way done._ The words teased him, refusing to flee from his alcohol-fueled race toward unconsciousness. Alec was prepared for the words' resilience – he'd been here before, faced this particular challenge. _Half-way done._ He drained his glass, raising it with his right hand to get the bartender's attention. He needed a refill. _Half-way done… Nope, I'm hardly getting started,_ Alec told himself as he glanced at his watch. 7:30 P.M. _Just another half-hour. Then Jack'll be here._

Jack was the owner's son, a young man who tended bar on Monday through Thursday nights. Alec had learned long ago that it paid to have a favorite bartender and to make certain that the tips let the bartender know how high he stood in Alec's view of the world. Jack was his favorite, due largely to the fact that he let Alec drink his scotch a bottle at a time, saving him the trouble of needing to ask for a refill every five minutes. Of course, Jack also kept his mouth shut and his eyes down. He respected Alec's privacy; he never asked questions; he never bothered with the usual bartender chitchat bullshit. For that luxury, Alec would have been willing to have his glass filled half a shot at a time. 

"Stay here," Alec muttered to the bartender – he thought the middle-aged guy's name was Barry… or maybe Larry. He tossed back the freshly topped-off glass, and gestured for an immediate refill. Barry/Larry obliged, and then shuffled away to fill a glass of white zinfandel for a young, audaciously effeminate man sitting at the end of the bar. 

_Half-done. Half-done._ Alec smiled ruefully. _Jack'll be here soon, and then we'll see who's half-done,_ he threatened his subconscious. 

"So what's her name?" Alec heard the young woman next to him ask. He knew she was addressing him – there was no one else close enough to be talking to with the bar so sparsely occupied – but he ignored her, hoping she'd do him the service of melting into the earth and leaving him alone. 

"Hey, what's her name?" she continued, touching his arm lightly, as if to get his attention. His eyes were upon her the moment her skin touched his jacket, a quick, practiced evaluation intent on proving that she was, in fact, as irrelevant a threat as he'd initially concluded she was. 

_No weapons,_ he noted immediately. _And she's small… too small to be a threat._ He simply moved his arm away from her, hoping she'd get the message. Either she didn't or she decided to ignore it. 

"She must have burned you pretty bad to make you clam up like this," the woman commented. Alec's only response was to gulp down his scotch and raise his glass again, yearning for the next mouthful of happiness. "And to drink like that," the woman added. 

"Go away," Alec muttered, completely uninterested with propriety. 

"I don't think you want me to go away," the woman replied. 

"I do," Alec assured her. "Get lost." 

"If you really wanted to be alone, you could just as easily have told me that the chair was occupied," she reasoned. 

"I would have been lying." 

"And is that a problem?" 

"Look, miss," Alec spat, whirling to face her, his gaze passing over her again. "I --" He lost his words as he locked eyes on hers, immediately wondering how his first two glances hadn't revealed the sun-bright emeralds that stared back at him. _Those can't be real,_ he reasoned. _They must be contacts or something…_ He searched the edges of her irises but couldn't find the telltale outline of the contact lenses he was certain were present. 

"What?" she asked, maintaining her own stare despite a conspicuously self-conscious tone. "What is it?" 

"Go away," Alec told her again, tearing his own gaze away, focusing again on his glass. _Twenty-five more minutes, he assured himself. Twenty-five minutes, and Jack'll be here._

"So was it a woman?" the woman asked. "Is that why you're doing the James Dean despondent routine?" 

Alec ignored her. 

"Because you know, whoever she is, she isn't worth it." 

Alec still ignored her. 

"In fact, I don't think anyone's worth the kind of devoted drinking you have going on." Alec was amazed that she was still prattling on, as if his requests for privacy had instead been a cry for help. "Just a few months ago, my roommate broke up with her boyfriend, and she was all messed up over it," she continued. "She's from Oregon, has really over-protective parents. Anyway, her boyfriend – his name's Paul – was the first guy she ever slept with. She was all convinced that they'd end up happily ever after or something, but then he dumped her and she totally went wiggins. She started drinking every night, and finally --" 

"Why are you still here?" Alec interrupted. 

"I'm telling you about my roommate." 

"Do I really need to tell you how much I don't give a shit?" 

"No, why don't you explain it to me?" the young woman said coolly, once again locking gazes with Alec. This time she was far more confrontational. _I like it,_ Alec decided. _Spunky._ Again he looked her over, and as before when he'd noticed her eyes, he was amazed to find just how much he'd overlooked. _Dark auburn hair, maybe 5'3", 110 lbs. Even though she's sitting down I can tell she's got a nice ass. And that's definitely a C-cup. And those eyes…_ He was amazed at the entire package and wondered at just what point in the past few years he'd stopped looking at people and started looking only at possible threats. 

"I'm Alec," he said with bit of a nod and an almost imperceptible wave. 

"Jana," she answered. "Nice to meet you." She smiled broadly, as if she'd just won some incredible prize. "So are you finally gonna tell me?" 

"What?" 

"What's her name?" 

A shudder passed through Alec as he remembered a name from his past. _Just three little letters… It's been what, ten years? I can't believe her name still does that to me._ "There isn't anyone." 

Barry/Larry set a Manhattan down in front of Jana, and for a moment Alec was forced to wonder when, and if, she'd ordered the cocktail. He couldn't remember her having talked to anyone but him. "I don't think you're being completely honest with me," she commented. 

"You think I'm lying?" he asked, stupefied to hear a coy, flirtatious tone in his voice. 

"Oh, god forbid I accuse you of lying," she said with a mischievous grin, taking a small sip of her drink with her right hand as her left hand went to her shiny auburn bangs, absently stroking her hair out of her eyes. _She's flirting back!_ Alec realized. _What do I do now?_ "Let's just say I think you're telling half-truths," she added, the grin growing ever-wider. 

_Half-truths. Half-done. Half-done. You left the job half-done, Alec._ "I have to go," he apologized, quickly getting up and dropping a twenty on the bar. "I'll see ya." 

"What?" Jana asked. "Was it something I said?" 

Alec didn't answer. He practically darted out the door and set a course for the nearest liquor store. _I didn't want to stay there, anyway, he told himself. I can get drunk just as easily at home, and I won't have to deal with nosy, busy-body chicks._

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_"You'll never get me to talk," White growled defiantly. Alec locked his gaze with his captive, his face a blank, expressionless mask. For the briefest moment he saw a flash of something – doubt? concern? fear? – in White's eyes. _Must have been my imagination,_ Alec decided. _

"I don't expect you to talk," Alec responded coolly. "At least not yet, anyway." He walked around the reinforced, steel chair his Familiar captive was chained to, reassuring himself that White wasn't able to escape. "I don't plan on interrogating you anytime soon." 

"Then there's no tactical purpose to holding me," White retorted. "You might as well either let me go or put a bullet in my head." The Familiar sneered contemptuously, but Alec could see through the bravado. 

He makes a good show of not being afraid of death, but methinks he doth protest too much,_ Alec thought. "I'm not letting you go," Alec responded. "And though your chances of getting out of here alive are definitely less than stellar, I can't give you the comfort of having a quick end, either." _

"Torture?" White inquired. Alec noticed with admiration that the Familiar didn't really seem frightened. 

"Yeah, torture," Alec confirmed solemnly, never noticing that his tone had become so serious, that a part of his mind, for whatever reason, wanted to express some reluctance and guilt at his actions, as if he'd been given no choice. "I am, of course, interested in what you know," Alec admitted, "but there'll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want to hurt you. I want you to scream. I want you to cry. I want you to beg me for forgiveness for all the things you've done to my kind." 

"It'll never happen," White muttered. 

"Of course it won't," Alec replied with a condescending grin, obviously knowing something his prisoner did not. Sure, he's strong,_ Alec thought. _And he can resist pain, and he's absolutely fanatical in his beliefs, but there's always something . . . that wonderful something unique to every individual. That one, magical thing that will break a man's will. I just have to discover White's something._ "You underestimate me," White said confidently. Alec didn't respond. He didn't see any need to. Instead, he simply left the room, giving his prisoner time to think. _He's going to wonder,_ Alec knew. _He's going to wonder what kind of things I learned at Manticore. He's going to wonder if maybe he's not as invulnerable as he believes. And most of all, he's going to wonder if there's a limit to what I'm willing to do.

It was the last part that made Alec grin with satisfaction as he closed the door softly behind him, with as much care as if he was leaving a sleeping baby behind. He was certain that White would break. And he was certain that he was willing to do whatever was needed to see it happen. 

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The bright, mid-April sun streamed through the window, evoking a painful groan from the depths of Alec's chest. He forced one eye open enough to look at the clock – 1:15. _A.M. or P.M.?_ he wondered for a brief moment. _Oh, right… the sun, he noted. Must be P.M._

He vetoed his body's immediate request for more sleep, certain that if he didn't get out of bed right away he'd likely stay there until it was time to go to the bar. _And that's not much of an option when I have work to do._ Alec had recently done a great deal of thinking about the phrase, 'functional alcoholic.' He was not at all convinced that he was, in fact, an alcoholic, but he knew that the large amount of time he spent in bars might be misleading to potential employers. His solution was to take care of contracts more quickly than most in his profession would. It hadn't taken long to earn the moniker of Mr. Fixit. He was his industry's most high-priced problem solver in the Pacific Northwest, and he didn't have any plans to lose that distinction. 

Alec trudged through his apartment into the kitchen where he found, to his dismay, even more sunlight waiting for him. Needing an instant caffeine jolt but not wanting to put forth the effort of brewing a new pot of coffee, he grabbed yesterday's mug from the sink and poured in the sludge that remained at the bottom of the previous day's pot. He felt it was to his credit that he no longer winced when he drank cold, stale, sewage-thick coffee. 

Just two sips were enough to open his eyes fully. _Well, might as well get it over with,_ he decided. He sat down and spilled the contents of a manila envelope onto the chipped, faux wood surface of his kitchen table. _Three pictures, all of the same man. Only one assignment._

He'd memorized every feature of the face in the pictures and then went to work committing the man's itinerary to memory. _Mr. Jonathan Wagner, COO of Wagner Corp, an up-and-coming pharmaceutical company. 51 years old, divorced twice and currently on wife #3 . . . nice, a 22-year old lingerie model. Three kids, all with wife #1. Into the office at 7 A.M. daily, stays until roughly 8 P.M. Generally goes out for dinner – same restaurants, rotating on a daily schedule. Let's see… Yep, Delmonico's it is,_ Alec decided after reviewing the list of Wagner's favorite restaurants. He could remember spending a weekend with one of the waitresses from Delmonico's a few months earlier. _Of course, that was before she went back to waiting tables…_ He thought a few minutes more before finally deciding that she would likely provide an excellent in. _Now what the hell was her name? Teri? Geri? Sherri?_ None of those names sounded right, but he couldn't decide what her name had been. _I could tell you anything about any inch of that nubile young girl's body, but ask me her name, and I come up blank, Alec lamented with a smile. It's a rough life._

_To be continued…………………………………_


	2. The Past is Sometimes Prelude

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Notes:** In response to a question regarding my earlier fics, this has nothing to do with anything I've written before. I hope that's not a bad thing.

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**The Past is Sometimes Prelude**

_ "Can we talk?" Alec asked casually as he walked up to Max._

_ "Gimme a few minutes," Max answered, never looking up from the paperwork in her hand. Alec knew what it was – daily reports on power usage, ammunition stores, food supplies, and tryptophan rations. It was all incredibly boring to him, and he was grateful that Max didn't ask him to stick around and go over it all with her. Then again, that would have been unlike her. Lately she'd been getting far more withdrawn, taking on all of the responsibilities herself. She was afraid to trust anyone else with the burdens of responsibility; she was afraid of how she could ever look herself in the mirror again if someone she'd trusted with authority went and screwed up._

_ "I'll be up in the tower," Alec muttered, feigning disappointment that she couldn't talk to him right away. He'd been preparing for this conversation for days, now. Every word, every gesture… they had all been planned. She had to be thinking of him as an immature, socially inept transgenic when they spoke. She couldn't be permitted to think of him as patient and devious._

_ He walked away quickly, sighing slightly as he went. Once he was in the tower he continued his charade, despite the fact that he was alone. He paced back and forth, openly displaying his irritation at having to wait to ask a simple question. Much later, but far sooner than he'd expected, Max joined him._

_ "What do you need?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest, staring at him impatiently. She clearly didn't like that she had to take time out of her schedule for Alec. That would work in his favor._

_ "I've been thinking about White," he told her. "I figure he's probably the most dangerous single individual out there."_

_ "How do you figure?"_

_ "He's got more information about us than anyone else," Alec reasoned. "He's fought us several times – he knows our strengths, weaknesses, and methods. His position of authority gives him an opportunity to speak about us very publicly."_

_ "Don't worry about White," Max responded calmly. "He'll never do anything too stupid as long as his son is still missing."_

_ "And what if anything ever happens to you?" Alec asked pointedly. Max could only stare blankly in response. It was everything Alec had hoped – this wasn't a problem she'd thought about yet. "You're the only one who knows where Ray is," Alec continued. "If you get killed – not an unlikely possibility with all the sharpshooters looking at us every minute of every day – then White is probably gonna ask for immediate evidence that someone here knows where his son is. We can't continue to use the kid as a deterrent if we can't produce him."_

_ "And what would you have me do?" Max asked. "It's not like I can just tell everybody here."_

_ "No, but you could tell one or two people," Alec answered._

_ "Like you?" Max asked with a smile._

_ "Yeah, right," Alec said, feigning amusement at the suggestion. This was the most difficult part of his plan. It had to be played perfectly._

_ "Tell Joshua," Alec suggested. "I know he's probably the one you'd like to have take over if anything ever happened to you."_

_ "I don't know…"_

_ "You could tell Mole," Alec added. The flash of concern that passed over Max's face was everything Alec had hoped for. Her thoughts were going exactly where he wanted them to. "A lot of the transgenics listen to him. Especially the freaks. And --"_

_ "Don't call them freaks," Max interrupted. "And besides, maybe Mole isn't the best person to give that kind of information to. He's a little…"_

_ "I know," Alec admitted. "Then tell Joshua. That whole crowd listens to him, too." Max's brow furrowed, and Alec could swear he knew exactly what she was thinking – _Sure the freaks listen to Mole, and they'll listen to Joshua… but in the end, even Joshua will listen to Mole. And Mole's too militant. That entire faction is too dangerous to trust with Ray's welfare right now. It has to be someone else…

"_Alec…" Max muttered. He could see it in her eyes – she needed a transgenic to trust, and as much as it was tearing her up inside, she was beginning to realize that Alec was her only real option. He looked directly into her eyes, smiling thinly the way he thought Ben might have. His expression had the desired effect. "If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret. Okay?"_

_ "Don't tell me," Alec objected, his words sounding in his ears like 'please don't throw me into the briar patch.' He took a step back and looked her over, as if he was searching for some sign of insanity. "I don't want to know, Max. That wasn't my point in any of this. I simply think **someone** should know. I don't think I'm that someone."_

_ "That's why it has to be you," Max replied, just as Alec knew she would. "Listen, you just have to keep it quiet, okay? Not even Logan has known where Ray is since the first time I had him moved."_

_ "The first time you had him moved?"_

_ "We move him every two weeks," Max explained. "There are Familiars everywhere, and we don't know what they look like. Krit is helping me out on this one – he has Ray under lock and key; and just to make sure no one has much of a chance to stumble across him, we keep him moving."_

_ "Good thinking," Alec commented._

_ "Right now he's in New Paltz, New York," Max explained. "He's due to be moved in three days. I'll tell Krit you're in on the plan, and he'll get in touch with you. The two of you will come up with some way to keep in touch, some way I won't know about."_

_ "I understand," Alec replied. It was obvious that Max was taking precautions; if she was captured rather than killed, she didn't want to have any idea how Krit and Alec would handle Ray. She couldn't surrender information she didn't have._

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"Can I help you?" the hostess asked, a disapproving scowl on her face.

"Abe Frohmann, party of one," Alec told her, ignoring her expression. He knew the reason – he didn't exactly look the part of Delmonico's regular clientele. Alec was fulfilling the letter of the dress code, wearing a white dress shirt with a thin, black tie and a black sports jacket, but the faded blue jeans and well-worn combat boots certainly didn't adhere to the spirit of Delmonico's code. Alec was also well aware that his disheveled hair and several days of stubble didn't help his cause any.

"I'm afraid you do not comply with our dress code," the woman said tactfully.

"Dress code is jacket and tie," Alec replied, pointing to a board behind her. "I have a jacket. I have a tie. If you have a problem with anything else I'm wearing you should've been more specific in your policy."

"I see," she answered hesitantly, glancing away toward her left where a man in a dark blue, pinstripe suit was schmoozing the customers. _The manager,_ Alec guessed. _Maybe I can have a little bit of fun before I work._ He caught sight of Alec and immediately walked over to deal with 'the situation.'

"Is there a problem?" the manager asked as he approached the podium.

"Not at all," Alec said smoothly. "I was simply having a discussion about your dress code. Apparently, your hostess feels I'm not properly attired."

"Well…" the manager's voice trailed off. He was obviously weighing the situation very carefully in his head. On the one hand, he was hesitant to let a scruffy man like Alec into his four-star restaurant. On the other hand, the manager was weighing the odds of Alec being one of the young computer impresarios who were helping to resurrect Seattle's tech industry. They were all in their twenties, and all were well-known as being unprofessional as hell in their appearance. But they also all spent big and tipped exceedingly well. It wouldn't do to turn away such a customer, especially when he was likely scouting out the restaurant as a possible location for impressing potential clients.

"Perhaps I should go," Alec commented, beginning to turn on his heel just as the manager reached his decision.

"No, that's okay," the man said diplomatically. "You are, of course, abiding by the dress code. I know how it is these days, the young businessmen dressing for comfort more than as a means to impress."

"It _is_ all about the results," Alec said with a friendly smile. "I apologize if I've caused any discomfort. Should I return in the future, I'll be more careful about my wardrobe."

"Oh, that's quite all right," the manager answered. He looked at the seating chart on the podium, deciding to show Alec to his table himself. Alec also took the opportunity to scan the papers on the podium. Next to the seating chart was the reservation list, and as he expected, there was Jonathan Wagner written in at 9:00, party of three, table 17.

"Mickey?" Alec whirled to his left, knowing that the melodious female voice was directed at him. He recognized the woman walking up to him, but he still couldn't remember her name. Thankfully, she got close enough for him to read her nametag before there was too much of an awkward silence. _Keri! Of course – Keri. How could I have forgotten?_

"Hey," he said with a half-wave. "I didn't know you worked here," he lied.

"What are you doin' here?" she asked.

"Scouting restaurants," he told her, also glancing at the manager out the corner of his right eye. The smile on the man's face told Alec all he needed to know – the man was congratulating himself for having figured out Alec's business. He was now very thankful he'd decided to let Alec in.

"If it would be possible to sit in Keri's section…" Alec said.

"Of course," the manager replied.

"But you have to call me Abe Frohmann tonight," Alec told Keri, adding a roguish wink for good measure. "I'm incognito and all."

"Great," Keri laughed. Then she turned to her boss. "Table eighteen will be leaving pretty soon. You can give that one to Mickey… I mean, Abe." Again the laugh. Alec knew he was in like Flint.

"Just give me a few minutes to have a table cleared," the manager said graciously.

"I'll just wait at the bar," Alec commented. "It'd be nice to get some Blue Label to help me unwind." He knew that comment would lay to rest any of the manager's remaining doubts. Johnny Walker Blue Label would doubtlessly go for over fifty dollars a glass, and Alec would drop a c-note to pay for it. The rest of the evening he would get anything he wanted.

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_"Hey Mickey," Crystal cooed as she walked over and grabbed Alec in a tight hug. "It's been far too long."_

_ "I was here three nights ago," Alec replied, taking a step back, admiring Crystal's body through her see-through top and fishnet shorts. _God, I so adore strippers…__

_ "Three whole nights," Crystal shot back, a seductive pout spreading across her lips. "You missed the new girl's first night."_

_ "The new girl?" Alec was fully aware that he'd failed to hide his curiosity, but that was fine. He knew the drill – the more curious he seemed, the more quickly he'd get to meet the new girl. It was one of the best perks of being a co-owner of the club. The world might have been going to hell in a hand basket, but money still talked. Investing in a strip club provided him with a steady source of income and a constant source of amusement. _And the best part is that since I'm just an investor, I don't have to do any of the work,_ he reminded himself, marveling at the wonders of capitalism._

_ Crystal winked over to Chanice, who immediately went over to the corner table to clear it for Alec. There were four college-aged guys sitting there, but Chanice made certain they surrendered their choice view. All it took was offering a closer look in one of the Champagne Rooms._

_ The table had been cleared and wiped down by the time Alec and Crystal crossed the club, and Melody was waiting to take his order. "Beam and Coke," Alec muttered as he leaned back in his chair, settling into the surrounding shadows as his gaze fell on Jasmine onstage._

_ He always enjoyed Jasmine's show. The club had several poles for the dancers, but Jasmine had a habit of climbing all the way to the top of the highest one, about twenty feet off the floor, and then hanging upside down for a few moments before sliding down, inverted, and stopping on a dime with her head a few inches from the floor. It was an act that always drew a gasp or two from first-time patrons._

_ She caught sight of Alec within a few moments of her death-defying dive, and danced over seductively, discreetly showing off the ankle bracelet that he'd given her the last time he'd been in. She always showed gratitude for the gifts she received – that was another thing he liked about her. She wasn't just in it for the money, taking everything she could get her hands on and then treating him like dirt the way some of the girls did. She seemed genuinely nice. Polite. He hoped the new girl was the same way._

_ "Hey, Mickey," Jasmine said with a broad smile as she got into earshot. "How ya doin'?" She locked her eyes onto his, drawing his gaze away from her body and onto her face. _Such powerful eyes,_ he noted for the umpteenth time. _And she really knows how to use them. I can't believe she's happy just being a stripper. She could be so much more…__

_ "So when are ya gonna take me up on my offer?" he asked her, just as he always did._

_ "College?" she asked, her long black hair falling over her mocha skin, hiding her eyes. "I'm not going to college, Mickey. I've told you that a bazillion times."_

_ "You're breakin' my heart," Alec replied._

_ "Come home with me tonight and I'll break far more than just your heart," she teased. Alec had heard that Jasmine liked her sex rough, and he'd always been tempted to take her up on her frequent offers. _But not her,_ he decided again, just as he always did. _Not with that hair. That skin. It's all too familiar…

_His miserable reverie was interrupted as the music ended and a new face walked up to join the two of them. "This is Amethyst," Jasmine said with a flourish of her hand, introducing the new girl._

_ "Hey," Alec muttered, his eyes poring over the woman who slowly started to dance in front of him, hesitantly picking out the beat of the new song. _I can tell she's new at this,_ Alec decided. _She's still getting a feel for the job. Probably not at all jaded yet, either.

_Alec looked her over, marveling at how much she looked like a character that stepped out of an anime movie. _The crazy-looking, eggplant-dyed hair, the purple eyes, the alabaster skin, the incredibly thin figure that still has a nice rack…_ As he sat in his corner throughout the night, Alec watched girls come and go onstage, but his eyes remained riveted on Amethyst while she was dancing, and wandered aimlessly, uninterested in anything in the room, when she was between acts._

_ It was four in the morning when the last of the patrons finally left, allowing Ted to close the club for the night. Alec was well and truly drunk by that point._

_ "You okay getting home tonight?" Ted called out, just as he always did. Alec knew the manager didn't give a rat's ass whether he was actually okay or not – he was only covering himself, making certain he checked on potentially intoxicated customers in his club before they left and climbed in behind the wheel of a car._

_ "Fuck off, Ted," Alec groused. "You know I'm fine."_

_ "I'll take care of him," Jasmine said as she walked over. _Or actually, I guess her name is Maria now, _Alec reminded himself. The dancing was over, and the girls had all returned to the safety and security of their secret identities, the majority of them preparing to Clark Kent it through their menial daytime jobs or classes until they returned to the club the next night._

_ "I'm fine," Alec insisted. "Really."_

_ "Hey, if you're not interested in me taking you home, that's your problem," Maria smirked. "You know it's an open offer."_

_ "I know," Alec responded, mustering one of his rare, genuine smiles. He fought his way to his feet and lumbered toward the front door, grateful that his bladder seemed capable of holding out until he got home. The club's bathroom was beyond rank by the end of the night, and Alec wasn't even willing to risk his genetically enhanced immune system to the filth that the shadiest denizens of Seattle brought in with them on a nightly basis._

_ "You're not driving, are you?" Alec heard a vaguely familiar voice ask as he trudged through the back door and into the employees' parking lot behind the club. He looked up and saw Amethyst staring at him from a group of four girls who'd all left together a few minutes earlier._

_ "I would if I could remember what my car looked like," Alec jested. Amethyst smiled. Her face lit up in a way it hadn't onstage, and Alec realized he'd found a second dancer who just didn't belong in his club. _She could do better than that,_ he told himself, ignoring his subconscious's questions about why he should even care at all._

_ "Why don't you let me give you a ride home," she offered, pointing to a sharp looking Mitsubishi Serpent. _Nice wheels,_ Alec noted. _No wonder she has to dance. The payments on that must be murder.

_"Quit schmoozing the owner," Diane joked. "It won't make a difference anyhow. He doesn't mix with us commoners."_

_ "I'd prefer to walk," Alec grumbled to Amethyst, ignoring Diane's words. As if the heavens themselves had decided to intervene, a flash of lightning lit the sky a few miles off. Alec immediately started counting. _1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11… _Thunder rolled softly, and Alec cursed his luck. He hated the rain. Or, more to the point, he hated getting rained on. He was pretty much fine with the rain as long as he was inside, but the sensation of having rain fall on his head was always unpleasant for him. He figured the edge of the storm was roughly two or three miles away. If it came in his direction, he'd never get home without getting drenched._

_ "You sure about walking?" Amethyst continued. "You'll get wet." It was as if she knew exactly what words to say, and Alec found himself helpless to resist her offer._

_ "Fine," he said, punctuating his surrender with an exasperated sigh. He walked over to her silver car and climbed in. "So what's your name, anyway?" he asked. "I can't really call you Amethyst out in the real world."_

_ "I guess not," she agreed as she turned the ignition, the engine roaring to life before settling down into a satisfied purr. "My name's Keri."_

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	3. Repeating Past Mistakes

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Notes:** This story, which was once far ahead of my planned 1x/week posting schedule has now fallen drastically behind schedule on account of the disk I was using becoming fragged. So now I have to go back and do my rewrites/edits all over again, and try to remember how Chapter 5 (or was it 6) was going to be completely restructured. I'll try to stay with the once per week, but no promises.

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**Repeating Past Mistakes**

Alec sighed heavily behind the wheel of his stolen pickup truck. He'd been weighing the merits of his two options for over twenty minutes, trying to make a decision and wondering why it was so hard for him.

_This has never been an issue before,_ he reminded himself. _What's my drama?_

Again he considered his alternatives – _wait out here or go inside?_ He knew Wagner was likely more relaxed inside, that his routine of eating at Delmonico's on a regular basis would make him feel comfortable, that the familiar surroundings would give him the illusion of security. _That's a definite plus._

Outside, though, there were fewer witnesses, fewer innocent bystanders that might get in the way of his work. _God knows I hate an audience. Besides, I could lay one hell of an ambush out here… though he and his guards might be more alert for an attack out here._

_Eeny, meeny, mieny, moe…_ He continued to think, suddenly suspecting that there may, in fact, be something else at work in his mind, something he wasn't consciously aware of; try as he might, once the possibility presented itself, he couldn't chase it away. _Goddamnit… it's Keri. What the hell is wrong with me, anyway?_

Alec opened the door and stepped out onto the rain-slicked pavement. _My employer wants to make a statement, and the best way to do that is by having as many witnesses as possible. There's only one right way to do this, whether I like it or not._

He fought to relax as he pulled down the front of his ski mask and walked briskly toward the front door. A middle-aged man with a nineteen, maybe twenty-year old woman was exiting just as Alec reached the entrance; both man and woman looked down at the sidewalk as Alec moved into arm's reach, each of them obviously wanting to make sure that they weren't mistaken for someone who gave a damn what Alec was up to. America was well on its way to full recovery, but that didn't mean people had forgotten all of the lessons they'd learned shortly after the Pulse. _Never invite trouble. Never be a hero. Look out for yourself at all costs._

Alec's body rotated slightly toward the left as he passed the man in the doorway, but he never broke stride. His entrance elicited a gasp from the hostess, but she also immediately found something – anything – to draw her attention away from what she instinctively knew was a man who wouldn't hesitate to kill her if she interfered.

The transgenic's pace quickened as he passed the first few tables, continuing on his way toward Wagner's usual table 17. His target was fully distracted by his onion soup au gratin, but his doubtlessly expensive bodyguard was quick to react. He'd almost brought his weapon to bear by the time Alec pulled the trigger. _Damn fast for an ordinary,_ the transgenic mused as he pulled the trigger. _A hell of a waste, really._

The report from Alec's weapon cracked through the cozy confines of the dining room, instantly driving the guests into a frenzy of panic. The door to the kitchen opened, and Alec trained his weapon on… Keri. _She's looking right at me,_ he cursed silently. His instincts told him to pull the trigger, to remove the potential obstacle and witness, but he ignored that advice and instead put a bullet into the head of Wagner's second guard. The fairly vulnerable man had been seated with his back to the entrance as he watched the kitchen door. His only warning had been his partner's attempt to draw his 9mm, and the two seconds of delay in his reaction were far more than enough time for Alec to kill the first guard, catch sight of Keri and weigh the merits of killing her, then turn back to the business at hand.

The second bodyguard's death was as brutally quick as the first's. One bullet to the head, the hollow-tip 10mm round spraying gray matter across the wall. By that point Wagner's mind had registered what was going on, and he gazed passively at his executioner, a deer in the headlights. Alec didn't react at all – his employer had sent no message, no instructions to let Wagner know who it was who'd killed him. That was rare. Most people who retained Alec's services had a huge ego to serve; it wasn't enough to win – they had to gloat. It'd never made much sense to the transgenic. He'd always resented having to take the extra time to deliver a message to a victim who would never be able to make use of the information.

Three shots for Wagner, one in the heart and two in the head. Then Alec was moving again. As he'd expected, no one made a move to stop him. There were plenty of other bodyguards in the restaurant, the majority of them ex-cops and ex-soldiers, but they all had their own responsibilities. As long as Alec left them alone, they'd be perfectly happy to count their lucky stars that he hadn't come for their employers that night.

A sudden downpour had seemingly come out of nowhere during the few moments Alec had been inside, and he muttered angrily at the weather as he walked over to his stolen pickup truck and drove away into the night. There was no police response to evade – they knew enough to recognize a report regarding a professional hit, and none of them was going to risk his life. They'd be along in about five minutes, once they could be certain that the assassin had had enough of a chance to make a safe escape.

Alec turned on the radio and hummed tunelessly to the music that came on, not even remotely in sync with the song he'd never heard before. All that mattered to him then was the job. The success. At least for a few minutes, his life had had purpose again; he'd been useful to someone. And the best part was the payment that would be waiting for him in his Cayman Islands account the next morning.__

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Fourteen in a row, _Alec congratulated himself as he landed the six of diamonds in the Seattle Mariners cap sitting seven feet and four inches away. He'd never run up his streak this far, and according to the rules of his game, one more made shot and he could increase the distance to seven feet and five inches._

_ He took the next card – the ten of clubs – from the top of the deck and grasped it lightly between his thumb and first two fingers. "Easy as pie," he muttered happily. "Fade, fire, and for--"_

_ "Alec, you in there?" Max called from outside his door. The disruption was just enough to send his shot awry._

_ "Damnit, Max," Alec hissed. He got to his feet and trudged grumpily across the room. He opened the door and immediately pounced. "I had fourteen," he told her. "I was in the middle of shooting for fifteen. You know how hard that is, especially with the cross-wind I have today?" he asked, pointing to the open window that was allowing a light but unpredictably intermittent zephyr to waft in._

_ "Sorry," Max apologized weakly. She knew about Alec's games; she knew they were, perhaps, the only things that kept him from bugging her every other hour with some trivial matter for her to deal with. "I can come back later."_

_ "No, come on in," Alec offered, a new thought occurring to him. "You can play me. How 'bout a nickel a shot?"_

_ "What are you up to?" Max asked, trying to gauge the distance from the wall to the cap. "That's about seven and a half feet, right?"_

_ "Seven feet, four inches," Alec announced proudly._

_ "And you got fourteen in a row?"_

_ "Yup."_

_ "Forget it," Max said with a smile. "I had enough trouble at six-ten. I'll send Joshua up in a bit, though. He's always up for a good game."_

_ "And he's also broke," Alec pointed out. "Won't make any money playing him."_

_ "And from what I've seen around here lately, it's not exactly like there's anywhere to spend your winnings."_

_ "For now, at least," Alec replied. "We'll get out of here eventually, and then it'll be party time."_

_ "You really think we'll get out?" Max asked, a trace of something – _Is that hopelessness?_ Alec wondered – creeping into Max's voice. She leaned back against the wall and let her legs curl up beneath her as she sat on the floor._

_ "You have any doubts?" Alec responded, sitting down a few feet from her._

_ "It's been six months," Max muttered, now sounding unmistakably despondent. "I don't know anymore…"_

_ "Well I do," Alec assured her, "and we're getting out eventually. Haven't you seen the pro-transgenic protesters?" he asked, referring to the group that started showing up daily at the gates just a few weeks earlier. "They're getting more impatient every day. And there are more of them every day."_

_ "You really think we'll get out?" she repeated._

_ "I'm sure of it," Alec told her. "The last obstacle we have is White."_

_ "It always comes back to him," Max remarked miserably. "He spreads lies and misinformation, and there's nothing we can do about it."_

_ "Unless we get some proof about his people, about their goal to wipe out humanity," Alec pointed out. This was the same thing he said every time Max got like this. At first he'd been surprised at how incredibly depressed she could become. Then he'd read some information that X5s occasionally suffered from more chemical imbalances than just a lack of tryptophan. Their brains also sometimes seemed to temporarily cut off production of serotonin, as well. There was no rhyme or reason to it, and those with the condition were given to severe bouts of depression. The disorder had never been confirmed in Max, but Alec had his suspicions._

_ "We've been through this a hundred times," Max muttered. "The only way to prove what the Familiars are up to is to get someone high up, someone who actually knows enough to expose their plans."_

_ "It's possible."_

_ "Maybe, but only if we knew who those people are," Max responded. "We don't even know that much, and I can't see any of the ones we've encountered being forthcoming with that kind of information."_

_ "We just haven't found anyone yet," Alec said encouragingly. "We already know that Sandeman was against some of the cult's plans. There have to be others, too. There have to be some Familiars who'd be willing to help us. All we have to do is wait long enough for them to get a chance to contact us."_

_ "And until then we remain stuck here," Max growled. "Trapped. Like… rats."_

_ "I prefer to think of us more as caged tigers, thank you very much," Alec countered. "It's a far better metaphor."_

_ "Maybe… but I'm not so sure you'd look all that good with stripes," Max answered, an unexpected smile brightening up her face. And like that, her mood lightened immediately._

_ "Well I'd certainly look better with stripes than you would with a rat's tail," Alec said with a smile of his own._

_ "I'm not so sure I like you pondering the image of me with a tail," Max grinned._

_ "Oh, here we go again. For the last time, I didn't mean it like that," Alec groused. "Why do you say stuff like that?" He was smiling broadly, but his question was still half-serious._

_ "Like what?" Max asked innocently._

_ "You know like what. You make it sound like I'm hitting on you."_

_ "Oh, and you weren't?" Max teased._

_ "You **know** I wasn't."_

_ "But you hit on every other woman in Terminal City," Max pointed out. "Even the fuzzy ones."_

_ "When have I ever hit on the fuzzy ones?"_

_ "Just a few nights ago I saw you hitting on that one… what's her name… Nymeria?"_

_ "No I didn't," Alec objected._

_ "Yes you did!" Max insisted. "On Tuesday night."_

_ "Oh, that doesn't count."_

_ "Why not?"_

_ "Two reasons," Alec explained. "First, I was drunk and therefore my judgment was impaired. Second, I was **so** drunk that I don't even remember doing it, so it shouldn't count."_

_ "If we shouldn't count anything that you do when you're drunk, then we wouldn't be able to give you credit for much of anything," Max said with a wicked grin. For the briefest moment Alec wondered if she was making a thinly veiled insult, but her joking tone convinced him that she was not._

_ "You overlook the fact that some of my finest moments have been when I'm drunk."_

_ "So I hear," Max said, her grin growing into a full smile._

_ "And what's **that** supposed to mean?"_

_ "Kelly's my roommate," Max said._

_ "So?"_

_ "She talks in her sleep," Max explained. "Apparently you're… how did she put it… you're her lord and master."_

"Oh."

_ "That's all you have to say?" Max asked, her smile somehow growing even wider. Alec began to wonder if Max had more teeth than most people._

_ "I don't kiss and tell," Alec said smoothly._

_ "Yes you do!" Max objected. "You and Sketchy talk all the time."_

_ "One of these days, Max…"_

_ "What… you gonna be **my** lord and master, Alec?" Max asked, not bothering to suppress a mocking chuckle._

_ "Exactly how did you become our leader, again?"_

_ "I look better on television," Max replied._

_ "**That's** your one qualification?" Alec asked._

_"Oh, don't hate because I'm beautiful."_

_"We're doomed."_

_ "Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence," Max replied sarcastically. She got to her feet and reached down to pull Alec up, too. "Let's get going."_

_ "Where?"_

"Outside," Max told him. "You should let that breeze blow on you under the warm sun. Days like this are rare enough as it is; no reason to waste them sitting in here tossing cards into a cap.

_ "Lead the way." Alec took her hand and got to his feet, following closely on Max's heels as he marveled at how easily she shook off her depression and doubt._

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A light, insistent tapping woke Alec from a dreamless sleep. His first thought was that the police had found him, that they wanted to have a nice chat about his activities the previous night. Once his mind shook off slumber enough to undertake rational thought, though, he realized how foolish a fear that was. The police were extremely unlikely to go looking for a professional hitman, and if by chance they did put their lives on the line like that, S.W.A.T. would be first through the door. This was someone else.

He stayed in bed, hoping that his uninvited visitor would go away, but the tapping continued, unfaltering and constant. _Whoever it is is gonna get his ass kicked._

Alec forced his tired, hung-over body into motion as he rose from the bed and walked toward the front door, grabbing his 10mm from the coffee table as he passed through the living room. "Who is it?" he asked from five feet away from the entrance.

"Keri. Open up, will ya? I've been out here for, like, ten minutes. Your neighbor's already opened his door and scowled at me twice."

Without even stopping to wonder why he was complying, Alec opened the door and settled his gaze on his guest. Keri's eyes went directly to his pistol, and Alec clumsily – and far too late – moved his right hand behind his back to conceal the weapon.

"That looks familiar," she commented as she breezed past him, placing a small waxed paper bag on the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. "You have any coffee?"

"Bottom shelf, cabinet next to the fridge," Alec answered dumbfoundedly, wondering at the situation. He actually took a moment to pinch himself, to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "It's a new bag," he added.

"Hazelnut," Keri said happily. "My favorite." Alec had barely managed to close the front door – and was still a virtual statue by the apartment's entrance – by the time Keri had ground the beans, started the pot of coffee, and walked back out to face him. "Donuts in the bag," she said with a gesture toward the coffee table. "Jelly, glazed, and toasted coconut. Didn't know what you'd like."

"Jelly's fine," Alec murmured, finally regaining his senses as Keri sat down on the battered leather couch.

"So what, you all hung over?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Isn't that just a little melodramatic?" she asked with a coy smile. "Go out, do a job, then drown your guilt with a few stiff drinks?"

"Bottle and a half of Beam."

"Okay, so we're well past a few stiff drinks," Keri responded with a grim nod. "That's really not healthy, you know."

"Who the hell are you?" Alec asked, relieved that he felt his senses returning to him. "And what are you doing here?"

"I'm Keri, but you already know that. And as for what I'm doing here… well, this is kinda awkward… I was hoping you could teach me to do what you do."

"Huh?"

"I saw you last night," Keri said evenly, eerily calmly.

"Oh yeah? Where was that?" Alec asked evasively, instinctually.

"At Delmonico's," Keri told him. Alec's stomach sank in response.

_A damn witness,_ he cursed silently, knowing that he really had no alternative to eliminating Keri. It was a job requirement. "Go away and never come back," he muttered under his breath, giving in to a weak voice in the back of his mind, calling for a measure of mercy.

"Alec, please…"

"Go away," he repeated more loudly, more insistently.

"I'm not going anywhere," Keri answered, crossing her arms stubbornly. "I came here to learn from you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shot back, noting with chagrin that his right hand was hanging at his side, the 10mm once again in plain sight.

"I'm a waitress and an occasional stripper," she answered. Alec noted the fact that she said "stripper" instead of "dancer;" it was unusual. "I want something better. I deserve something better."

"And exactly how do you feel contract killer is a step up?"

"Better money, better hours."

"Sure," he replied glumly. "Be a contract killer – meet new and interesting people… and blow their heads off."

"You tellin' me it doesn't pay well?"

"What do you think?" Alec asked with a sarcastic flourish around at his surroundings. He hoped the run-down apartment would help deter any further interest. _And of course I won't mention the fact that I have millions in investments and offshore accounts._

"So you don't advertise the fact that you have money," Keri said. "Makes sense not to attract attention; but don't think I'm gonna believe that you don't have a nest egg or two somewhere."

"Who the hell are you?" he asked again

"Just Keri," she repeated.

"Just Keri…" Alec's mind raced along as he searched for something else to say. _Well, she's obviously made me… I can't let her walk out of here. Unless…_

"Just give me a chance," she suggested. "See how well I do."

"What makes you think you'd be any good at… at what I do?"

"I'm smart," Keri replied with a mischievous grin.

"That's it?" Alec asked. "You're not gonna go on about military experience, a black belt or two, or some crap like that?"

"I'm smart," Keri repeated. "I'm smart enough to learn what I have to learn. Smart enough to be careful on the job and not make mistakes. Smart enough to do what you tell me until you think I'm ready to work on my own."

_Well, she's certainly saying all the right things,_ Alec noted. In his mind, intelligence was the most important asset for someone in his line of work. Having a wide array of combat skills was nice, but there was always someone who was a better hand-to-hand combatant, a better shot, a better explosives expert. Being smart, though… that was the key. Being smart kept one from taking stupid risks, from being foolish enough to try a job without being completely in control of the situation. _It also makes someone capable of learning what I have to teach,_ he decided.

"Fine," Alec finally muttered wearily. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but fine. Come back in a few hours, after I have time to drink some coffee and get a shower."

"Hey, I'm the one who made the coffee," Keri pointed out. "I think I should get at least some of it. And as for the shower, well… what if you need someone to wash your back?"

"Fine," Alec relented all too easily, cheered and instantly awakened by the prospect of taking a shower with Keri. _Don't even think about continuing any kind of involvement with her,_ his instincts warned him. He ignored the warning, though.

_I won't get too close,_ he assured himself. _I didn't fall for her last time we got together for a brief – though passionate – weekend, and I won't fall for her now, either. There's nothing to worry about._

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	4. Returning to the Old Routine

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Returning to the Old Routine**

The gentle beeping of the alarm clock coming from the closed bedroom reminded Alec that he should look busy. He'd been in the middle of cleaning his Barret sniper rifle when his mind had once again begun to wander, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of a clean kitchen. It had taken Keri three days to clean up the dirty, battered apartment, but she had been insistent. She assured Alec that there was no way she could concentrate on her training when she was surrounded by a disaster area of a home. _Well, at least she's well-ordered,_ Alec told himself. What he hadn't expected was the eerie rapport that had developed between them by the time Keri finished her cleaning and redecorating project.

Alec felt more comfortable with her than he'd felt with anyone in a long time. _Not since…_ He cut off that avenue of thought immediately and turned back to the task at hand. He shined his penlight down the long barrel of the weapon, his eyes poring over the bored metal, checking for any sign of wear and tear, any barely perceptible cracks or scratches. As he'd expected, it was fine.

The rifle was completely reassembled by the time Keri opened the bedroom door and tenuously stepped out into the living room, glancing over at him with her typical incredulous morning glare. "Seriously, this whole not sleeping thing is weird," she told him. "I've been here for a week and you've slept a grand total of maybe six or seven hours. It's not good for you."

"I'll be fine," Alec assured her, just as he had the day before, and the day before that. "I've already told you about a dozen times – I just don't sleep much. Never have, and I guess I never will."

"You're a bit of a freak if you ask me," Keri responded with a playful grin. Despite her simple teasing intent, Alec was not amused.

"Don't ever call me that," he told her caustically, stopping her dead in her tracks as she looked at him with alarm.

"What? What did I say?" She looked so innocent, so abashed, that Alec almost felt bad for using the tone of voice he had.

"_Freak_," he spat. "Don't _ever_ call me that. In fact, don't ever even say that word. Okay?"

"Okay." Alec noticed her take an almost imperceptible fraction of a step back; he knew he'd frightened her, and he felt strangely fine with that. _As long as she gets the message…_

"Anyway, you'd better get out there for your run," he told her, his voice suddenly calm, almost friendly. "We have a lot to do today."

"Sure," she muttered.

Alec's mood changed immediately, and he found himself incredibly proud of his new protégé. They were four days into training, and Keri had gone from a waitress with no exceptionally intense workout regimen to a woman who now ran eight miles a day, followed that with weight training, and then rounded out her workout with some aerobics and martial arts. He knew her body had to be aching all over, that her feet were covered with blisters, and that the simple act of getting out of bed and walking into the living room was likely more agonizing than anything she had ever experienced; but she did it, and without a word of complaint. Just as she'd promised him, she was smart enough to do what he told her without question.

"You gonna join me this morning?"

"No, I already went running," Alec lied. The truth was that he simply assumed that he would be able to run eight miles in record time if he ever had to, though it had been years since he'd pushed his body with any real training. He'd decided long ago that it was enough to rely on his transgenic enhancements to get him by. _Lydecker would have called me lazy,_ he admitted to himself. _I'd just say I'm practical. No reason to spend all that time training. It's unnecessary._

"You gonna teach me how to use that when we're done with the workouts today?" Keri added, looking at the huge rifle that lay on the table.

"We'll see," he told her. "I might start you with an AR-15 or something else first. Smaller, less recoil."

"You don't think I can handle that?"

"Don't know," Alec responded. "But I don't think starting you with a Barret is much smarter than starting a 16-year old with a Ferrari as his first car."

"Point taken," Keri said, relenting. Alec liked how she always relented. He'd been worried that once they started she would start acting like she knew best how to proceed with her training. Thankfully, that was not the case.

"What time do I have to beat today?" she asked him, seemingly unafraid of the daunting task of besting her running time every day, no matter how sore she became.

"1 hour, 12 minutes, 37 seconds."

"Then I'll see ya in 1 hour, 11 minutes."

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Alec stood in the entryway of his apartment, taking only a brief moment to realize that Keri had failed her test. He strode into the living room and settled his gaze on her, sitting right at the edge of the couch.

"You moved."

"No I didn't," Keri protested. "You told me to sit right here until you got back. "I'm still at the same spot on the couch."

"My instructions were a bit more specific than that," Alec chided softly, more disappointed than angry. "I let you get into as comfortable a position as you wanted, and I told you not to move until I got back. I told you that under no circumstances were you to move; no matter what happened or how long I was gone."

"And I'm right here where you left me," Keri pointed out, though her tone let Alec know her effort was only for show. She knew full well that she'd failed.

"I was gone for just over thirty hours," Alec continued. "There isn't a wet spot on the couch, so I know you at least moved to go to the bathroom."

"Didn't think you'd want me messing up your furniture."

"There's a new couch getting delivered today," he answered. "On the off chance that you'd done as you were told. The pillow at the other end of the couch is moved, too. You laid down to sleep."

"Sorry."

"I was telling you just two days ago that your training with the sniper rifle is about far more than just being a good shot."

"Which I am."

"Yes, you're an excellent shot," Alec admitted. "But being a sniper is a state of mind. You have to be patient, and not like normal people are patient. You have to be obsessive about it. You have to be willing to sit on a couch without moving for thirty hours if that's what you need to do to get your shot. You have to be willing to urinate on yourself. You have to be able to fight off sleep for the entire duration. You have to block out everything but the shot that will end your period of immobility. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Good." Alec remembered his time in Gillette, how Lydecker would treat his charges when they'd made a mistake similar to Keri's. It was not a pleasant memory; and while Alec refused to visit upon his protégé the same kind of cruel incentives encouraging perfection, he likewise had to admit that negative reinforcement could be a potent motivator. "Go for your run," he told her. "But go through the course twice."

"That's sixteen miles."

"I know."

"I got, like, maybe four hours of sleep last night."

"You weren't supposed to get _any_ sleep last night."

"So this is punishment?"

"You think you deserve to be rewarded?"

Keri's defeated look was all the answer Alec needed. She walked directly to the door, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed her sweatshirt off the closet doorknob as she left.

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_"Good morning, sunshine," Alec said with a grin, locking gazes with his prisoner._

_ "It's not morning," Ames responded weakly. His voice no longer contained any arrogance; gone was the bravado, the superiority, and the ironclad resolve that had been so ever-present during Ames White's time of freedom. Alec had seen to that._

_ Three times a day for three straight days he had visited the Familiar and tortured him until he passed out from the pain. The first day had been the toughest, when Ames was still full of spit and vinegar, when he was still willing to endure more pain in silence rather than give his captor the satisfaction of a wince or moan, no less a scream. That had changed, eventually, as Special Agent Ames White had learned firsthand some of the punishments the transgenics had experienced back at Manticore. Lydecker had always had a soft spot for 'his kids,' but some of the other instructors had allowed themselves to be more lavish in their doling out of discipline. Alec had always hated those particular men and women – soldiers and scientists who seemed to delight in devising methods of actually hurting a transgenic. Now Alec used many of their techniques on his captive, trying not to dwell on how much he'd picked up over the years and just how easy he found it to inflict agony on another._

_ The first session had been a plain and simple beating as Alec allowed himself the satisfaction of smacking White's grin right off his face. The hard part had been showing enough restraint to avoid breaking his jaw or giving him a concussion. He needed White coherent and able to communicate. Interrogation would ultimately be rather pointless, otherwise._

_ The second session had introduced White to the experience of having every bone in his left hand broken, one at a time, under the fairly precise force of a ball-peen hammer. Alec had to admit that he'd been impressed by White's strength of will during that session – even after two compound fractures in his index finger and with his hand a bruised, bloody, mangled mess, he kept his composure. He didn't pass out from the pain, he didn't beg for mercy, and he didn't look away from his injuries. That was the one and only session Alec considered a failure._

_ By the time he'd gone in for his next session eight hours later, though, Alec was satisfied with his progress. Ames was definitely a little woozy from the pain and he was consciously struggling against going into shock. Alec had cleaned up the Familiar and set the fingers in splints. The sole exception was the index finger – Alec wasn't sure he'd be able to prevent infection at the fracture points, so he simply cut the digit off and sewed up the wound. The pain was enough to cause Ames to pass out, and Alec had been left in silence to patch up his prisoner enough to ensure he'd be as strong as possible for the start of the second day._

_ That second day was Alec's favorite. Three excruciating, hour-long sessions of electro-shock therapy ground down Ames' will. Alec had always been fond of electricity, due to the fact that the human body was unable to deal effectively with that particular stimulus. Even fairly innocuous, low-voltage shocks over-loaded human pain receptors, causing the subject to feel he was experiencing far more electricity than he actually was. That allowed the transgenic to zap his captive repeatedly, holding back from serious jolts until he was ready to wrap up the session._

_ By the time the third day came along, White was already a fraction of his former self. He still talked the talk, but Alec doubted he could walk at all. With the exhausted Familiar's pain receptors still screaming from the previous day's activities, Alec undertook the final course in his three-day physical torture program – burn day. The morning started with fire, the afternoon brought cold, and the late-night acid and alkaloid session gave Ames his first real experience with chemical burns. Then had come the worst part._

_ Alec dragged White from the makeshift torture chamber and into the carefully constructed interrogation room, strapping him into a small steel chair that was hardly large enough to accompany the Familiar's rump. The seat was slanted slightly toward the right so that Ames was constantly sliding, ever so slowly, toward the floor. It was designed to be uncomfortable, to make it impossible for the individual to center his weight. It was also too short, pretty much forcing the user to keep his feet on the floor, which was the last thing Ames wanted – the floor around the chair was charged, and he received an electric shock every time he made contact with the tiles._

_ Alec strapped his prisoner into the chair, adjusting the armrests so that they were at just the right height to allow Ames to fall out of the chair and onto the floor. Then he left, setting the lights in the room to flash, blindingly bright, every fifteen seconds. That was how he left the Familiar for two days. He then visited shortly to hook Ames up to an I.V. that provided fluids and nutrients; it would keep the Familiar alive but was nowhere near enough to allow him to start recovering._

_ On the third day in the interrogation room, Alec started blaring the sound of an infant's cries over the speakers. Human beings were hard-wired to react to that sound; any other sound in the environment could be blocked out – the rumble a train near a house, frequent emergency vehicle sirens, traffic from an adjacent highway – but no matter how often an infant cried, no human being could become acclimated to the sound. It was a primal drive that all humans – even the Familiars – retained from the earliest days of their evolutionary development. While such a drive served a very obvious practical purpose, it also provided Alec with the stimulus he needed to continually prevent Ames from sleeping. The strobes flashed and the infant screamed, over and over, each one alternating with the other, for days. _All to build up to this,_ Alec thought happily._

_ "Good morning sunshine," Alec repeated, ignoring the Familiar's protestations about the time of day._

_ "Good morning," Ames answered, this time giving Alec exactly what he wanted. That was the chip in the wall, the weakness Alec needed. He knew what Ames was thinking: that relenting on such a small issue was no big deal, that it was fine to agree it was morning when he was certain – for no rational reason, given the fact that he hadn't seen the sky for days – that it was actually night. _He's telling himself that he can say whatever he wants as long as he doesn't give me any important information,_ Alec knew. _And he's doing it even though he knows in his heart of hearts that this concession is just the first, that giving in that first time will make it easier next time, and the time after that. He's breaking, and he no longer has the strength of will to care. _Alec just hoped he would get what he needed in time. The situation in Terminal City had just grown unexpectedly unstable, and Alec knew for the first time that he was on a time limit._

_ "Are you ready to give me what I want yet?" Alec asked, knowing the answer before he received it._

"Fuck you," Ames mumbled, almost incoherently. Alec had turned off the strobes and the speakers when he'd gone in, and he noted that in the mere seconds he'd been in the room, White had already just about fallen asleep.

_ "No, we don't want that," he muttered, walking over to the I.V. drip behind the chair. He took a syringe out of his pocket and injected LSD into the tube, knowing that would help to break down the Familiar that much faster. _A little hallucination never hurts,_ he decided. _It'll be that much harder to resist if he's not sure what's real and what isn't. I can't even begin to imagine the kinds of tricks his mind is about to play on him._ "Nighty-night," Alec commented with a grin as he walked away toward the door._

He'd better break pretty soon, Alec told himself as he turned the strobes and speakers back on. He's taking his sweet time giving in, and I only have one more card to play. I'd hate to have to get **really** mean.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Alec gathered himself to dart across the street, half-hoping that he wouldn't be able to make it to the restaurant entrance just a dozen yards away. He knew that Keri was watching the street from somewhere above him. Her instructions had been simple – take him out when he left from 304 Gates Blvd. Of course, this being a training exercise, 'take him out' meant shoot him with one of the ink gel rounds she had loaded in her rifle. They wouldn't kill, but they'd sting like hell – the gel capsules were set at the top of a live round, so they left the muzzle at close to the same velocity as an actual bullet. And while Alec hated the thought of getting hit, he knew that for Keri to demonstrate proficiency with her sniper rifle – and show Alec that he'd trained her well – he'd have to endure a little pain.

He'd given her no time frame, expecting her to settle in and take as long as was necessary. She'd learned patience, and she'd also proven herself to be a natural with the rifle. Her eye-hand coordination was superb, and she had a knack for locating environmental clues indicating wind direction and speed. Now she had only to show that she could maintain full concentration for an extended period of time and react within the blink of an eye. He'd kept her waiting half the day and well into the night; sunrise was only an hour away, and Alec had to decide whether to leave now and take advantage of the last remnants of darkness, or take the advantage of a longer wait but make his move during the daylight.

_Or maybe I'll try something else entirely,_ he thought, another strategy popping into his mind unexpectedly. _It's not quite fair, but then many of the people we'll run up against won't be playing fair, either._

Alec reached into his bag and took out his nightvision binoculars, slowly scanning the rooftops across the street for the slightest sign of his would-be executioner. _This would probably have been a lot easier with some daylight,_ he decided, taking a few moments to wonder whether he should just wait until daybreak, when he could take full advantage of sunlight. _No, nighttime offers the best cover._

Alec had just about given up when he found something out of place. He couldn't see Keri, but he could see a shadow that looked just the slightest bit irregular. _Either she's right there, just out of view, or there's another light farther back on the roof, causing the restaurant's exhaust fan to cast its shadow differently than I'd expect._ He weighed the possibilities and decided to take a chance.

Within a few minutes Alec had donned his black sweatshirt to go along with his black cargo pants and made his way out the back door. He walked two blocks down, and then circled all the way around to Keri's back, scaling the wall of the building that she was using for cover. He quickly checked the lighting and noted that there weren't any additional lights; an equally quick scan of the rooftop revealed Keri's position. _Damn good hiding place,_ Alec noted with approval. An old chimney – sealed off before the Pulse when the restaurant below went from gourmet to short-order – had partially crumbled, and Keri had wedged herself underneath it, using the mound of rubble to obscure her shape and the long rifle in her hands.

Alec was a ghost, gliding soundlessly over the sagging rooftop until he was only ten feet away from his apprentice. He momentarily considered running up and saying, "Boo!" in her ear, but settled for a more professional coup. "Bang, you're dead," he said joylessly, disappointed in a victory that meant his student had lost.

The automatic response was a slicing pain that cut into the back of his right shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," Keri chided from behind him. Alec whirled and settled his gaze on her – she looked like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"What the --"

"Silly rabbit," she said with a smirk. "Tricks are for strippers with sniper rifles."

_She set me up,_ he marveled silently. While he was amazed at her foresight and cunning, though, he was also irritated. "Nice trap, but what if I had just walked out the front door like I told you I would?"

"But you didn't do that, did you?" Keri shot back, still seeming amused despite her teacher's rebuke.

"But what if I did?"

"And what if night was day and up was down?"

"Huh?"

"If you just walked into the scope of a rifle you knew was waiting, then you wouldn't be Alec," she told him, suddenly sounding every bit the teacher rather than the apprentice. "You said that we'll get dossiers on our targets, that we have to study them and choose the best time and place for our hits, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Alec confirmed, seeing exactly where Keri was going with her reasoning.

"So I know you, and I know your tendencies," she explained, saying just what he expected. "And you're not one to play the victim."

"I guess not," Alec admitted glumly.__

"I would have been by the chimney if you'd been someone else; but you were you, so I set you up."

"And I walked right into it…" Alec muttered, trying to figure out if he was more proud of Keri, or humiliated at his own failure. _If Lydecker were alive to see this, he would have put a bullet in my skull for being so careless. And I would have deserved it…_

"So I passed, right?"

"Of course."

"So I get to go with you on your next job?"

"Yup."

"Cool."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Can you see me?" Alec asked into the sub-vocal microphone he was wearing in his ear.

"Stand by," Keri's voice came to him in reply. "That truck behind you is obstructing my view." A moment passed as the rented moving truck pulled away down the alley, and then she continued. "Yeah, I got ya."

"I'm planning on using this door as my exit, too," he told her needlessly. _We've been over this plan about a hundred times,_ he reminded himself. _You wouldn't have taken her on as an apprentice if you thought she'd need you to repeat basic stuff like that at the last minute._

"Understood."

"See you in a few," he added as he opened the door adjacent to the rear delivery dock and walked inside. His target had only been identified as Mr. Brett Hahneman, importer-exporter. Alec knew that all but certainly meant he was involved in smuggling and likely had ties to organized crime. The security inside the building had not backed up that theory, though. While Hahneman had several armed guards, there were no alarm systems, dogs, or cameras. The hit would actually be as simple as walking in, shooting the man, and walking back out.

A burly man in a sweat-stained Hawaiian shirt glared at Alec as soon as he walked in, and not to be deterred, Alec walked right up to him. "Hi, I'm Michael Collins from the Aegis Corporation," Alec said smoothly, producing with a flourish one of the business cards he had printed up the night before. "I'm here about security cameras."

"We don't have security cameras," the burly man said, his breath stinking of the stale beer he'd drank the night before. "Get lost."

"I know you don't have security cameras," Alec responded, seemingly oblivious to the other man's attempt at an intimidating stare. "That's why I'm here. I was told that a Mr. Hahneman wanted to speak to a representative of my company, Mr. … umm…"

"Gregg," the guard replied. "I'm just Gregg, and I didn't hear anything about you."

"Oh, and are you Mr. Hahneman's secretary?" Alec asked, knowing his question would piss off the guard. "If you could let him know I'm here, Gregg, that would be great."

"Are you _trying_ to get him to hit you?" Keri asked over the com. Alec grinned.

"You think you're pretty funny, huh?" Gregg asked Alec, poking him in the chest with his forefinger.

"Not at all," Alec answered, trying to suppress a chuckle. "I was just reminded – for no particular reason, mind you – of an amusing anecdote a friend of mine was telling last evening."

"Huh?"

"An anecdote," Alec repeated. "A short story pertaining to one's personal life. For example, there was this one time, in band camp…"

"Shut up and get out," the man growled.

"Am I to take it that you're _not_ going to announce me?"

"That's right."

"But I have an appointment."

"I know all of the boss's appointments, and you're not on the list," Gregg said threateningly. "Now I suggest you --" The last words were lost as the man gasped for breath through a shattered trachea.

"Took you long enough," Keri groused from her rooftop outside. "He was really starting to bug me."

"Cut the chatter," Alec warned her. He chalked her talkativeness up to expected nervousness, but also decided he should explain again how the com should be for emergencies only. He doubted there was anyone monitoring frequencies inside this low-grade target's warehouse, but in the future it might be a different story.

He walked farther into the building, silently strangling two guards as he went, until he reached Hahneman's office. He could hear someone – he guessed it was his target – talking on the phone. Alec waited for the conversation to end, and then knocked softly on the door as he opened it. "Hi, are you Mr. Hahneman?"

"Who wants to know?" Alec noted the man's hand slowly move below the desk, presumably toward a weapon of some kind. _At least he's smart enough to know I probably shouldn't have gotten this far without any of his guards alerting him._

"My name's Michael Collins, from the Aegis Corporation." He started to produce another business card, only to have Hahneman draw a .357 Magnum and point it at his head. "Oh shit," he said in the meekest, most deferential voice he could muster. "I'm just getting a card, sir. I'm not… I don't have a… Oh, shit."

"How the fuck did you get back here?" Hahneman asked suspiciously.

"I spoke to Gregg outside," Alec responded, still playing the part of a weakling. "My boss arranged for this appointment. Gregg said it was okay to come back here."

"Oh, _Gregg_ said," Hahneman answered sarcastically. "I wonder if Gregg is aware that he's just a hired thug…" Hahneman looked his guest over coolly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Collins, but not only does Gregg not have the authority to schedule appointments for me, as of right now he's not even in my employ anymore."

_Actually, he stopped being in your employ about a minute and a half ago,_ Alec replied silently.

"I don't know how much your boss paid Gregg to get a meeting, but the money was wasted. Now if you'll please leave."

"Of course," Alec said as he took a few cautious steps back.

"I won't shoot you in the back," Hahneman said, seeming thrilled with the feeling that he had Alec thoroughly terrified. "Trust me."

He started to lower the weapon, and Alec struck. The transgenic's right arm was a blur as he drew his 10mm and fired a single round straight through the middle of Hahneman's forehead. He immediately heard approaching footsteps, and fired off the rest of his clip as quickly as he could, putting nine more rounds into the target's body. _Overkill,_ Alec remembered. _The employer wants overkill. No open casket for friends and family._ He was out the door just in time to run into a blaze of gunfire from two more guards. Alec dove for cover, and then was off and running toward the rear exit.

"Hope you're ready out there," he shouted, knowing that Keri was doubtlessly more than ready. The only thing that remained to be seen was whether any qualms about killing would affect her aim.

Alec ran back the way he came, dashing out onto the loading dock. The two men followed, and Alec whirled and took aim. A thick red mist exploded where the head of the man on the right used to be, and Alec cut down the second one before Keri had a chance to make it two-for-two.

"Thanks," he said into the com. "See ya back home."

"Yeah, see ya," Keri said, a hint of uneasiness in her voice. _Yup, that was the first time she ever killed someone,_ Alec knew. He'd suspected that she had never taken a life, but he had never asked. He knew Keri had been curious about that oversight, but he'd found the question to be useless. People often lied, for one reason or another, when asked whether they'd ever killed. _And now for Keri the matter is settled. No denials or false claims of bravado are necessary._

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	5. Starting Down a New Path

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

**Starting Down a New Path**

Keri rolled off of Alec, sweat dripping from her brow and lending her body a gleaming luster. Alec reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of the lighter, and looked over to his spent protégé. "That was…" He struggled to find the right word, considering – and rejecting – astonishing, volcanic, and epic before deciding that the inability to find the appropriate word said far more than any adjective ever could.

"Yeah," Keri agreed, borrowing Alec's cigarette and taking a long drag.

"Not good for your lungs," Alec chided as he took back the cigarette and enjoyed a long drag, himself.

"But it feels good," Keri responded with a playful grin. "Makes me even more lightheaded than I already am. Which is no small feat."

Alec only smiled in reply. He'd been expecting a solemn, guilt-ridden young woman to walk through his door after the hit, and even then only after hours of introspection and self-therapy. Instead he found a charged dynamo in a black silk teddy waiting for him.

Keri had been insatiable in the hours since, and was only now starting to settle back down to her usual, reserved state. She was once more the quiet, unassuming girl that few would ever expect to have been a stripper, and none would guess was now a professional assassin. _She's gonna be amazing someday,_ Alec decided. _As long as she doesn't get careless, as long as she never gets to like it too much… And as long as she keeps studying with me, of course._

"I think I might be ready for some sleep now," Keri muttered, rolling over just enough to pick her glass up from the floor next to the bed and drain the last swallow of her drink.

"So soon?" Alec quipped. She turned back to him and flashed him a thin, seductive grin.

"Well I know you're not ready to go again yet, anyway," she teased as she got out of bed and headed back into the kitchen for another Beam and Coke.

"Give a guy a chance," Alec objected, taking the time to enjoy the view as the last rays of sunshine glistened off her pale skin and sparkled in her lavender eyes.

"And maybe some viagra," she called out once she'd reached the safety of the other room. "You need a refill?" she asked, her voice accompanied by the singsong clinking of ice cubes being dropped into her glass.

"Always. But hold the Coke this time." Alec's smile slowly died away as he steeled himself to talk business. "You did well today," he said evenly, trying not to sound too congratulatory. He first wanted to see how she'd react to the reminder of their hit before he discussed it too much. The tone of her voice back at the warehouse was still on his mind; he wasn't going to rush her into dealing with it if she wasn't ready.

"You, too," she replied, her grin vanishing.

Silence reigned for several minutes, Alec trying to decide what to say next. Keri returned to the comfort of the bed, handed him the bourbon, and left him to continue the conversation. He wondered at his inability to speak with someone he'd come to know so well. _It's not like me to be unable to talk business,_ he noted. _This is definitely different, and not in a good way._ The silence was starting to grow painful, and every moment Alec let it drag on, the harder he found it to break the stillness.

"Look, I'm gonna be fine," she assured him, finally taking from Alec the burden of starting the necessary conversation. "It's sweet of you to be concerned, though."

"Huh?" Alec asked, hoping he didn't look as surprised as he knew he sounded. "It's not about being sweet. It's about making sure you're okay. If you don't want to go out there and do that ever again, that's fine. This isn't something that's for everyone. And besides, if you're not gonna be able to handle it, I need to know now… before we're in the field and any hesitation might mean my life. Or yours."

"I'll be fine," Keri told him again. "I'll admit that I was a little weirded out at first, but I got over it pretty quickly. Right afterward I even felt a little sick, actually, but then I felt this… rush, or something. I got sorta wound up, and…"

"I noticed," Alec replied, fondly remembering Keri mauling him before he'd even taken off his jacket.

"Hope you didn't mind too much," she said, a flirtatious pout spreading across her lips. "'Cause, you know, we don't ever have to that again if you don't want."

"No, I want," Alec assured her. "Oh boy do I want."

"So you say," Keri cooed. "But we're about to find out just how badly," she whispered in his ear, just before she rolled over and straddled him again.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

623, 639, 653,_ Alec counted silently, checking each of the house numbers on the opposite side of Pugh Street. _There it is – 679._ He watched for several minutes, trying to detect the slightest indication that there was anyone inside. Minutes passed, and Alec once again checked the surrounding lighting, hoping he had enough cover behind the long-overgrown bushes outside an abandoned home – just one of many in the once-booming college town of State College, Pennsylvania. With the Pulse had come concerns having more to do with survival and less with higher education; when the students had left, the local economy had utterly collapsed._

And of course this is where my target is,_ Alec thought, cursing his unfortunate luck. _With no one around it'll be next to impossible to approach the building undetected without getting at least a little luck on my side. _Minutes finally grew into hours, and Alec glanced at his watch. 03:50. _Not too long before the eastern horizon's gonna start getting a little gray,_ he warned himself. _If this is gonna happen under cover of darkness, it'll have to be soon.

_ "Fuck it," Alec grumbled, dashing out from behind the bushes and darting across the cracked, uneven asphalt that had once been a smoothly paved road. He reached his destination – another group of overgrown bushes – and paused slightly, sensing no indication that he had been detected. _So either no one's seen me, or I just haven't figured out that they have,_ he decided. _Here's hoping for Option #1.__

_ He moved again, stunned that he was able to make it to the doorway of 679 Pugh Street without coming under fire or setting off an alarm. He'd found two trip-wires and could only guess at their purposes, since he didn't stop to check them out; but Alec still couldn't shake the feeling that it was all too easy. _I can't imagine it would be as simple for anyone else if they came for me.

_He set up the explosives in seconds, a practiced, transgenically engineered hand taking a fraction of the time that could be managed by the most accomplished demolitions specialists in the world. He braced himself to the side of the doorframe and pressed the detonator. The shaped charge blew the door inward, simultaneously giving Alec both an entrance and a cloud of debris that served as a modicum of cover. He entered warily but quickly, hoping to find his target in the first few seconds, before a proper defense could be mounted. For the first time in his life, Alec found his lucky streak continuing unexpectedly._

_ A dark form dashed into the room at the edge of Alec's peripheral vision. What would have been an easy coups de grace against an ordinary turned into a huge tactical error when faced with a transgenic's heightened reflexes – Alec's target really never had a chance. Alec dove for the floor, hearing his opponent slice through the unexpectedly vacant air where Alec's head had been only a fraction of a second earlier. _Him and that sword of his,_ Alec cursed silently. _Only one of his group would be stupid enough to being a sword to a gunfight._ Alec rolled forward, bouncing to his feet and leveling his weapon with cold indifference. No words accompanied his victory; there was simply one round, fired directly into the center of his target's chest._ Hope that doesn't end up killing him,_ Alec thought absently, trying to force any sentiment from his mind. _Woulda preferred a tranq, but that's out of the question. It's not what our enemies would have used. They would be out to kill, no questions asked, and I can't risk raising questions by being merciful.

_ With the one defender out of the way, Alec proceeded down a hallway, opening every door he came across. The third one he tried led to a stairway that descended into a basement. _That's where I'd put him,_ he decided, proceeding cautiously into the gloomy darkness, searching for a light switch that might relieve him of the burden of counting on his nightvision. He found one, but predictably enough no light burst to life at the flip of the switch. _Probably hasn't been power in this damn building for at least a decade,_ he cursed._

_ A moment later he discovered he wouldn't need any lights. He found a huddled form lying at the back of the basement, its head covered in a hood. "Who's there?" a young voice called out._

He can smell me,_ Alec realized. _Even through the hood. Or maybe he can tell that I walk differently… Either way, he knows I'm not the same one who's been holding him hostage._ "It's okay," he replied reassuringly. "I've come to get you out of here." Alec removed the hood, looking into the small eyes with the most compassionate expression he could muster._

_ "Who are you?"_

_ "Not now," Alec answered, suddenly remembering that his most compassionate expression was less than worthless – he was still wearing his ski mask. "Let's get out of here first. Let me see your wrists," he muttered, gesturing to the shackles that held the boy to the wall. As soon as the child's attention was diverted, Alec drove a syringe into his arm, injecting enough anesthetic to keep him asleep until they reached the Mississippi._

_ "What?" the child cried out, realizing he had been deceived._

_ "Quiet, Ray," Alec said soothingly. "I'm taking you back out West. I need your help with something." _There's no telling what'll happen once my plan gets going_, Alec reminded himself. _Any one of a bazillion things could still go wrong, and I'm not going to the table without an ace up my sleeve.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Alec grabbed his mug as he rose from the new couch and walked into the kitchen, deciding to retrieve the hidden bottle of Jameson whiskey he kept in a cabinet above the refrigerator – safely away from Keri's curious eyes. _Time to make my morning coffee a little Irish._ He doubted Keri would have approved had she been there, but she was out getting groceries at a new market that had opened a few weeks earlier. _"They actually have a steady stock of items," _he remembered Keri telling him wistfully the first time she had asked for money to go shopping for them._ "This is the first full-service supermarket in the area in, like, twenty years. Trust me, you'll be happy I went." _Alec had trusted her, and Keri had been proven right. _One stop shopping,_ Alec marveled, wondering briefly why anyone would trust the same store to carry everything they might want. It seemed almost unnatural not to have to go to an outdoor market consisting of a myriad of specialty shops. _What'll they think of next? And how much will it cost me when Keri decides it's too good to pass up?_

"Don't even go there," he muttered threateningly to his subconscious, which was once again addressing a concern he'd rather ignore until some other time. _Like when?_ he asked himself, wondering if, in fact, he actually had a separate personality living deep inside his mind, the product of some kind of long-forgotten Manticore torture that had caused him to dissociate to the extent that his personality was fractured. Too often he found himself playing devil's advocate, speaking to himself as if there actually were two people in the conversation. He wondered if other, "normal" people did the same thing. _And if they don't is this something Ben did?_

That disturbing thought was easily pushed away. Unlike other memories, there was absolutely no part of him that _ever_ wished to dwell upon the possibility that he had any form of slowly developing psychosis. _Unlike other memories,_ that all too familiar voice in his head teased. _Like the memories of the only other women you got close to, perhaps?_

"Son of a bitch," Alec growled. "Fine, I like Keri," he mumbled, making an admission that did little else than scare him. "But this is different. It won't be like last time." _Or the time before that? _he asked himself. "Fuck."

_The time before that,_ he thought, his mind racing along memory lane to its destination – a place Alec's thoughts had not visited for a long, long time. _Rachel,_ he remembered with a heavy combination of pain, guilt, and rage. He hadn't really thought about her since a couple of months after her death; he'd done his damnedest to repress every memory of the first woman he'd ever loved, deciding that forgetting her – and all the good things he'd enjoyed with her – was far easier and preferable to deciding whether he was angrier with his Manticore superiors for giving the order that led to her death, or himself for giving in so easily. _It would be so easy to change,_ he decided. _If I could go back in time, the solution would be so simple. If I only knew then what I know now…_

Alec once again rose from the couch – this time sans mug – and walked into the kitchen, deciding to make his morning coffee pretty much exclusively Irish and not at all coffee_._ _Not that drinking away the sorrow and guilt will solve anything,_ he noted silently, surprising himself with the straightforward manner in which he admitted the reality of his problems. It had been years since he had forced himself to face certain truths, most importantly the ones that dealt with consequences and the need to own up to them.

_Fine, _he told himself. _I've made mistakes, and things ended badly for the only two women I ever cared about. I made mistakes because of inexperience, because of bad judgment. And even because of a lack of follow-through,_ he admitted, wincing as the words "half-done" burst forth from the deepest closet in his mind. _That doesn't mean I'm bound to make mistakes again. I'll be careful this time. I'll take care of Keri. I'll make sure I'm worthy of the affection she gives me. I'll be the guy she thinks I can be. I owe her that much._

Alec grinned at his unexpected ability to address his guilt about past mistakes and fears about future ones. _I can be happy again. And I'll prove it as soon as Keri gets back._

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"You awake?" Alec asked softly, half-hoping that Keri would be sound asleep.

"Yeah," she answered groggily. "What's up?" Keri turned over onto her side to face Alec, having no idea how clearly his enhanced eyes could see her in the near-darkness.

"Tomorrow is June 15th," Alec muttered.

"Uh-huh."

"And I get my assignments on the 15th," Alec told her needlessly. Keri knew all of this already, and Alec sensed that she knew he was stalling, trying to avoid what was really bothering him. She remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point. _Or maybe she just fell asleep._ "I'm not sure I want you going with me on my next job."

"What?!" If she hadn't already been fully awake, she certainly was now. "That's bullshit, Alec. You let me go last month, and I've only gotten better since then. I haven't done anything wrong… I don't deserve this."

"It's not like I'm punishing you," he responded, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. "I just don't think I want to put you out there again. Not like that."

"It's not your decision to make."

"Actually, it is… and you're too important to me to put you in danger," Alec yelled, surprised at the forcefulness in his voice. He noticed that it almost completely concealed the fear, the anxiety over her welfare.

"Too important?" Keri answered incredulously. She sat up and scowled down at him. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I don't want to lose you." The words were barely audible, Alec afraid to allow himself to hear them, no less bare his soul to Keri. But she heard him.

"What makes you think you'll lose me?" she asked, in a heartbeat her self-righteous rage gone, replaced by tender compassion.

"Because it always happens that way," he answered, knowing how absurd he sounded.

"Huh?"

"It's not important." He began to roll over, only to have Keri grab his shoulder in a vice-like grasp, forcing him to look at her.

"What do you mean?" He wanted to stay silent, but she was insistent. "Tell me, Alec. Tell me right now or I'm walking out the door."

"Do you trust me?" he asked, wondering even as he spoke why that question had been so important. It wasn't something he had meant to say.

"Without reservation," she assured him

"I love you," Alec admitted, his voice sounding frightened and empty, belying the warmth of his words. "And every time I love someone…" His voice trailed off as he searched for the best way to put it. "It ends badly," he told her.

"I'm sorry."

"And it's always my fault." Keri continued to look at him, almost as if she expected him to continue. He didn't.

"I see," she finally said with a faint nod of the head. "I know it must be painful, Alec, but you can't blame yourself for everything." Alec could tell she was choosing her words carefully, not wanting to make a big deal of his confession until she knew exactly what the circumstances had been but still being unwilling to dismiss his claims as exaggerated.

"You'll have to trust me when I tell you that it's perfectly reasonable to blame myself for this," he told her. "I'm a very dangerous person to be around, in more ways than you can imagine."

"I pretty much expected that, hon," she replied with a grin. "Given what you do for a living, I expect a little bit of danger."

"Not because of what I do," he said evenly. "Because of what I am." He hadn't expected to get into this with her, but he realized that he had gone too far, that his subconscious was demanding honesty with the woman to whom he'd let himself grow too close.

"You're an assassin," she said with certainty and understanding.

"No, that's what I do," he said, slowly shifting his weight so he could reach behind him and turn on the light on the nightstand. Then he rolled back over, his face into the pillow, and pointed to the back of his neck. "Take a look," he directed. "It's been a few days since I took the laser to it. You should be able to see it, faintly."

Keri looked closely, and he felt her fingertips brush against his skin right where he knew his barcode was reappearing. "Holy shit," she gasped. "You're a . . . you're…"

"A freak," he finished for her, rollig back over to lock his eyes on hers.

"That's why you didn't want me saying that word," she commented with a smile of sudden understanding. "No, Alec, you're not a freak. At least I wouldn't say so."

"Oh really?" Despite the look in her eyes, despite his desire to believe her, Alec's gaze shifted to Keri's hands, wary for the slightest movement that would indicate she was reaching for a weapon. The only move she made was toward him, grasping him in a tight hug.

"I'm strangely fine with it," she explained. "Seems weird to me, actually. Maybe 'cause it's not something I ever thought about happening to me. I thought the transgenics were extinct."

"Not quite yet," Alec admitted. "There are still a handful of us. We don't pass on our traits to offspring if we mate with ordinaries, though, and there aren't enough of us to create a stable gene pool. Within fifty years we'll be well and truly gone." He felt uncomfortable explaining the plight of his people so casually, just moments after he was on guard against Keri attacking him for being a transgenic. The whole situation was starting to become rather surreal.

"Out of curiosity," she suddenly asked, "does this mean that those other ones – the Familiars – are they still alive?"

"Probably," Alec answered, giving voice to the fear he'd always secretly held. "Been years since I've seen one, but there were more of them than there were of us, and they could hide far more easily. I'm sure there are still some left… though I hope they're as badly off as my kind are." Memories of the global war fought between the transgenics and the Familiars came back to him – cities reduced to ash, governments toppled when they took one side or the other, entire civilizations destroyed as the Familiars played nations against each other in order to create cover from their enemies. Five bloody years that had ended with the worldwide assumption that the two sides had fought to their mutual extinction. Alec had always assumed that most world leaders knew better – that mutual extinction would have been well nigh impossible to achieve. No one could be that lucky; but no one in his right mind was in a rush to suggest that one or two super-species might still be in existence, each possibly planning its next attempt at worldwide domination. The overwhelming majority of the ordinaries weren't ready to deal with that possibility.

"So what exactly does this all have to do with me?"

"It's like this," Alec tried to explain. "The normal person, from what I can tell, lives a rather uninteresting life. He wakes up, goes to work, comes home, has dinner, then goes to sleep. Most days are just like that, with the only variety being the tasks that are assigned during the workday, or the different shows he may watch on TV while unwinding after he finally gets home. Not very riveting. My life has always been different. I have a life with enough action, excitement, and variety to be the basis for some over-priced TV series of its own."

"Oh, aren't you getting self-important right now," Keri teased. "Hate to break the news, but I can't imagine anyone getting more than one season out of you… well, one good season, anyway, transgenic or not."

"I'm serious," Alec retorted in frustration. "Don't you see what I'm saying? Things happen to me that don't happen to normal people, Keri. I go out and kill people for a living. People shoot at me. People try to blow me up. That's usually no biggie for me, because I'm a transgenic. I can pretty much squeak by no matter what happens. But you're an ordinary, and ordinaries tend to get killed when very bad people come looking for me."

"I can take care of myself," Keri assured him. "Don't think you're shutting me out of your life."

"I'm trying to do the exact opposite," Alec explained. "I'm trying to keep you in my life. I'm trying to keep you safe, and that means keeping you away from the things I do. For instance, what if a Familiar settled in Seattle and tracked me down? Don't think for a second that you'd stand a snowball's chance in hell if that Familiar set his sights on you."

"But that could happen whether I'm working with you or not," Keri pointed out. "At least if I'm working with you I'll be learning to take care of myself; I'll be keeping a sharp edge. I won't be the vulnerable little thing I was before you started training me."

There was little Alec could say to that; he hadn't thought about it that way before. _What if she's right?_ he wondered. _What if just being around me at all is dangerous, whether I take her into the field or not? This whole thing may have been a terrible mistake._ "Let's just talk about it in the morning," he replied, hoping to draw a compromise – and some time to think. "I'll take a look at whatever jobs they have for me this month, and we'll discuss whether you have any skills yet that could be useful. If you do, fine. If not, you'll just have to accept being left out of the loop."

"Fine," Keri said reluctantly. "We'll talk in the morning."

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	6. Reopening Old Wounds

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Reopening Old Wounds**

After more than twelve hours of walking aimlessly through Seattle, Alec realized that he had once again reached his apartment building. He considered turning away just as he had the last time. And the time before that. The fact that he hadn't gotten any assignments for the month the previous morning – while unprecedented and financially unfortunate – had allowed him an extra day to decide what he was going to do about his dilemma. _This is crazy,_ he told himself, wondering what the hell he was thinking. What Keri had told him was true – he couldn't afford to keep her in his life at all if he was concerned about her safety. Being a contract killer in the middle of a city, surrounded by potential enemies, was far less than safe. He had resolved just to slip out and disappear the next time she went shopping when a new thought occurred to him – he would inevitably go somewhere else and put himself in the same situation all over again. Sure, he might succeed in keeping any and all interpersonal interactions safely at arm's length, thus avoiding romantic entanglements, but he would once again be a contract killer in the middle of a city, surrounded by potential enemies. _The life isn't just unsafe for Keri – it's also unsafe for me._ He had been unable to avoid the obvious conclusion that he had deliberately put himself in such a risky position because he wanted the danger. There was simply no other explanation.

He then began to wonder _why_ he wanted to put himself in that situation. _Why would someone put himself in a position that would inevitably get him killed sooner than he'd like?_ The only answer he could produce was that on some level, it _wasn't_ sooner than he'd like. He took a step back and examined everything in his life, from his career, to his drinking, to the seedy neighborhood he'd chosen as his home. He was daring the world to kill him, and the whole time secretly hoping the world would succeed. It was an uncomfortable epiphany.

_But why would I want to die?_ he'd asked himself. _Especially now, when I'm so happy?_ That was the question that had brought enlightenment. He remembered his early days at Manticore, when Lydecker had them run an experiment. They'd placed a frog in a shallow pan of water, the edge of the pan and the water level both low enough to allow the frog to jump out at any time. They then raised the temperature of the pan extremely slowly – one degree every half hour. The frog adapted to the increase, never realizing that its environment was getting dangerous. In the end, all of the frogs died – cooked in the water – because they had grown so used to adapting to the gradual, almost imperceptible changes that they overlooked taking the comparatively drastic step of just jumping out of the water. Alec realized that he was the frog.

_I didn't put myself into this position because I've been subconsciously looking for a way to get myself killed,_ he realized. _I put myself in this position because I've spent years adapting to the immediate situation without ever looking at the wider picture. _ Ever since leaving Manticore, he had made slight changes, one after the other, each of them allowing him to adapt to the current dangers even as he became more threatened by his surroundings. It was inevitable that at some point he would reach the threshold where he realized further changes were impossible, that he had run out of options and there was no escape. _I'm jumping out of the pan of water,_ he told himself. _I'm giving up my job – it's not like I need more money, anyway – and I'm leaving Seattle. I'll move east, maybe to Vermont or Maine. Somewhere with lots of clean air, wide-open spaces, and very, very few people. And I'm taking Keri with me._ He couldn't help but grin. _I can't believe I'm doing this…_

A tingle ran up Alec's spine as he entered his building, replacing his giddy, adolescent joy of life with wary anxiety. Something was wrong – he knew it in his gut the way a field mouse feels the shadow of a watching owl. It was instinctual, and years of experience had taught him to listen to his instincts at all times. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

The stairs creaked softly under his feet, just as they always did; the light on the second floor landing flickered in the same way; a cool, summer night's breeze still wafted in through the space between the boards covering the shattered window at the end of the second-floor hallway. So many things seemed the same that, at first, Alec had trouble identifying anything identifiably wrong. As much as he trusted his instincts, there was still an overly rational part of his mind that demanded objective evidence for his hunches.

_It's quiet,_ he warned himself. _Too quiet._ He checked his watch – 23:30. By this time of the night the Robertsons were usually going at it like cats and dogs. Bill would be home late again, and Sally would be convinced (rightly, Alec knew) that her drunken husband was carrying on an affair. But there wasn't so much as a muttered complaint coming from apartment 203. _And it's a Thursday night. Those goddamn college students in 307 should be raising a hell of a racket. But they're not…_

Alec's breathing shallowed out as he climbed the staircase to the third floor, realizing that he couldn't hear a single conversation coming from any of his neighbors. Sidling up against the wall, he crept down the hallway toward the last door on the left – his apartment. He was still a dozen feet away when he realized the door was open a crack, though there weren't any lights on.

_That enough objective evidence?_ he asked the logical side of his mind as he pulled a Sig-Sauer 10mm from the holster at the small of his back. He moved painfully slowly, managing to avoid making the slightest noise as he snuck over the rickety, timeworn wooden floors. He crouched low as he reached his door, and softly pushed it in on its hinges.

"Oh my God," he muttered. "Keri."

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_"Max, you really shouldn't leave your door open like that," Alec called out, pushing the slightly ajar door fully open. He wasn't even aware of the gasp that escaped his lips as he took in the carnage before him._

_His sense of smell was assaulted by the pungent, coppery scent of fresh blood, though he didn't need his nose to tell him what his eyes could fully see. Shortly before the escape from Manticore, Alec overheard one of the other X5s reporting on the results of a strike, describing the scene as a slaughterhouse. Alec remembered thinking the other X5 to be engaging in some drastic hyperbole, trying to play up his success for Lydecker. He'd never believed – or been able to imagine – how a hit on a single individual could make a home look like a slaughterhouse. Now he knew._

_ Blood literally drenched the living room, and Alec could only guess at how so much space could have been doused by the blood from only one individual. Splatter covered the walls, with grey tissue adhered – as if by glue – to one particularly large, bright scarlet stain on the window frame._

_ Max's scent permeated the metallic odor of the blood, clouding Alec's reason and bringing tears to his eyes, obscuring his vision. He staggered through the apartment, trying to find her, hoping that despite all evidence to the contrary she would be okay, maybe hiding in a closet after fighting off her attackers. The truth slammed home as soon as he entered the bedroom. Her body was laid out on the bed, stripped and eviscerated. Her hands were resting on her throat, sickeningly peacefully now, though Alec could only assume that their position indicated that Max had died trying to free herself from the section of intestine that was used to strangle the final breaths from her body._

_ Max's mouth remained open in a silent death wail, but her eyes, gouged out and filled with viscous pools of blood, were hideously vacant. Alec had no idea how long he stood there staring, but he was aware that at some point his eyes began to drift over the rest of his friend's corpse, and he noticed that her left index finger was missing. _Just like… _he realized, knowing that this scene was his fault. _How could I have been so careless? How could I have left the job only half-done, _knowing_ that something like this could happen?

_Alec had no memory of what he did next. He was vaguely aware that he screamed, but he had no idea how loudly or for how long. The next thing he knew, it was three days later when he woke up in the hold of a tugboat tied up at the docks – three days after their war against the Familiars was over; three days after Max was killed in the very first moment she was away from her guards. Only one thought existed in his mind – one obsessive desire that blocked out everything else._

"Vengeance," Alec muttered, his voice so consumed with fury that it sounded hollow. He turned his eyes away from the all-too-familiar bloodbath and focused his thoughts and his rage inward. "Whoever did this is a dead man." _And it'll take a long, long time for it to happen. There are no words to describe the suffering that I'm going to inflict._

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	7. A Stroll Down Memory Lane

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** Sorry it took longer than I planned to get this chapter posted. It's been mostly done for a while, but as the chapter title indicates, this is heavy on past action. Since present action depends largely on what came before (especially in this story), I needed to make sure I knew _exactly_ where the story was headed before I posted this chapter. I think I've got it all worked out now and, to be honest, there's really only one scene left to write. The rest is all editing… lots and lots of editing.

Additionally, sorry for the gore in the previous chapter. I'd initially put in an extra warning about content in an author's note, but then I realized doing that would clue in the reader to the fact that something bad was going to happen, and I hate doing that. In the end, I figured the fact that I rated the story R should pretty much be all the warning I really need. I feel that the chapter had to be a bit over the top in order to send Alec where I need him to go, and that's all the justification I'll give for eviscerating Max (and Keri).

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**A Stroll Down Memory Lane**

_ Alec gazed vacantly out the cracked windshield of his beaten-up Mustang, once again indulging in a moment of doubt. _There's gotta be another way,_ he argued silently, trying to figure another method of self-support. _If Max were alive, she'd beat the living…

_"Stop it," he growled at himself, cutting off that avenue of thought. "Max is dead, along with most everyone else. The handful of us that are left are done, we're splitting up. Recent events have demonstrated quite clearly that there may be only one thing I excel at, and I need money."_

But not like this,_ his conscience pleaded in a voice eerily reminiscent of a certain X5 he'd once loved. Alec allowed himself a few moments to consider other alternatives, from being a busboy at some restaurant, to being a concert pianist, to living out his dream as the shortstop for the Seattle Mariners._

_ "Most anything that would get me the kind of money I want would bring with it the scrutiny of living in the public eye," he reminded himself. "And the stuff that would allow me to remain safely anonymous wouldn't let me live the lifestyle I want."_

So this is about money? _Alec wanted to deny his conscience's question, but the simple act of glancing at his car's fuel gauge forced him to admit the truth._

_ "I don't even have enough cash to keep my car gassed up," he muttered miserably. "I could be an All-Star athlete in any professional sport, I could be a virtuoso with pretty much any musical instrument in the world, I could even do something as simple as sell my story to a publisher. But all of that would bring attention, and attention would get me killed. This is bullshit. I need money. Now."_

_ He opened the door and climbed out, taking the briefest moment to survey his surroundings, searching for threats as he went over his plan one last time. He'd taken his time setting up this meeting, knowing that the slightest misstep could lead to the uncomfortable situation of having Russian hitmen shooting at him. That was not the way he preferred to start his day._

Not to mention it'd be a shame to waste a month and a half of planning,_ he reminded himself. When the dust finally settled after the end of their war, its bloody aftermath, and the weeklong drinking bender Alec had undertaken to drown the pain, he'd come to the shocking realization that he would need to get a job. After a weekend of thought and more drinking, he'd decided that the best starting point was to find a crooked politician. There were plenty of them about, so that first step in employment turned out to be the easiest. His target was one Washington State Congressman Jonathan K. Reece, Republican, married father of two children – Jonathan Junior, 11, and Kathryn, 7. Reece had amassed enough cash from bribes, kickbacks, and the three embezzlement schemes that Alec had actually uncovered (though he suspected two others) that the Congressman literally had enough money to single-handedly fund Seattle for a fiscal quarter._

_ Given the vast magnitude of Reece's graft, Alec found it easy to enact his plan. He first posed as a local college student so he could get a position as an intern on Reece's staff. Alec wanted to take his time in this phase of his scheme, but the fact that it was an unpaid position forced him to advance his timetable. After only three weeks he asked his bookie, Sasha Primokov, to pass a message up the chain to Sergei Ivanov, the de facto head of the Russian mob in Seattle. Alec kept his request suitably vague, and was told a week later to show up here and now._

And now it's show time._ He walked slowly, keeping his hands visible at all times, knowing that he was likely in the crosshairs of at least one sentry, probably two. He wasn't surprised by anything that followed – he reached the side door of Sergei's waterfront warehouse, was frisked by a guard, walked in, was frisked again, and then was led up to the second floor, where Sergei apparently had an office. Inside sat Sergei Ivanov, a man who'd always reminded Alec of John Malkovich in _Rounders_. He'd seen him many times, but this would be the first time he had a chance to speak to him. _And if this is gonna work, I'd better remember to be on my best behavior.

_"I hear you have some information for me," Sergei said in a flat, uninterested tone of voice that indicated his doubts that Alec had anything to say that would get him much money. Alec noted that the Russian also lacked the thick accent most of his thugs had; he could only assume that Sergei had come to the States as a child._

_ "Yeah."_

_ "And?" the Russian prompted, waving his hand impatiently._

_ "And I'd like to cover the topic of compensation before I say anything," Alec replied, doing his best to keep his voice devoid of the arrogance Max always accused him of when he was in these types of situations. Sergei only had two guards in the room – one on Alec's right, just out of arm's reach, and one on the opposite side of the room, standing next to the largest safe Alec had ever seen outside of a bank – so the Russian was more than vulnerable to his transgenic guest, despite the fact that Alec was unarmed. Ivanov seemed confident, though, and that ill-advised overconfidence made part of Alec want to break a leg or two just on principle. But he maintained his composure._

_ "Compensation…" Sergei repeated. "You afraid you won't be paid?"_

_ "I have no doubt that you'd be willing to pay me what you think the information is worth, but money isn't what I'm after," Alec answered._

_ "Oh really?" Sergei asked, either unwilling or unable to hide the fact that he was intrigued. "So what is it you want?"_

_ "I want a reference," Alec responded without hesitation. "Someone you've done a lot of business with has been talking to the Feds, and this individual is getting a Get Out of Jail Free card for giving you up. I'm offering to take care of the problem for you in exchange for a reference," Alec explained. "I'm new to the area, and I'm looking to break into the field of problem-solving. It's a tough market to crack when you don't know anyone important."_

_ "I have no idea what you mean – 'problem-solving,' " the Russian replied with a smile, obviously playing to the audience he seemed to suspect was listening in on the conversation. "I have no idea what you mean – 'take care of the problem for me.' " Alec couldn't blame him for his wariness – he'd expected the problem, but there was really no way around it. He wasn't likely to get the gangster to believe he wasn't wearing a wire, so he would just have to speak plainly._

_ "I understand your suspicion, so I'll make it easy for you," Alec offered. "A certain individual is gonna talk. I am willing to murder this person for you, thus allowing you to keep your hands clean. I'm not interested in payment, either, for the information or my services. All I would like is your agreement to connect me with someone who might be looking for a new employee with my skills. That's it, and that's all."_

_ Sergei's smile broadened. "Who is this individual?"_

_ "Do we have a deal?"_

_ "You got balls, coming in here making demands of me," Sergei sighed._

_ "I'm not demanding anything," Alec responded simply. "I'm only offering an item of information for sale and suggesting a method of valuation for said information."_

_ "Balls of steel," Sergei chuckled. "I like you." He reclined until his back was almost parallel to the floor, forcing Alec to wonder how Sergei's chair didn't tip backward. "Is deal. But three conditions. First, you have to tell me who the individual is, of course. Second, you have to do it publicly, so there's less chance of police involvement. As part of that, I also expect an opportunity to see the body, so no blowing this person up and leaving no identifiable body parts. My cousin had the cops pull that fake assassination shit on him in Moscow. Third, you have to take care of a second problem, as well. You know, as an demonstration of good faith on your part."_

_ "Fine," Alec agreed, also having expected that possibility. Sergei was famously paranoid about police entrapment, which was the primary reason he was still a free man. He knew the police might send in an undercover officer to make the deal and set up a hit that could somehow be faked, but that officer would never actually be authorized to go through with a second hit just to make his ruse that much more convincing._

_ "Good," Sergei replied with a thunderous clap of his hands. "Is settled, then." Alec suddenly noticed that Sergei's accent was curiously becoming thicker with every passing moment. _Almost like he's stepping into some kind of internalized Russian mobster role as he prepares to do business. Weird.

"There's one of my guards who's been looking at my girlfriend, Natalie, in a way that I find less than professional," Sergei explained. "I want this guard killed."

_ "Tell me who, and I'll take care of it." Sergei opened the drawer in front of him and pulled out a .38 caliber revolver. He tossed it to Alec and pointed to the man standing to the transgenic's right._

_ "Is him," Sergei said. In one fluid motion, Alec leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger, only to find the chamber empty. The guard's eyes had gone wide, and he took a step back, not seeming to realize that Sergei had given Alec an unloaded weapon._

_ "Needed to make sure you weren't gonna just shoot me as soon as I gave you a pistol," Sergei said apologetically. He produced a second .38 and, like the previous one, tossed it to Alec. "That one is loaded," Sergei said unnecessarily; the weight of the weapon had immediately let Alec know the second revolver's chamber held at least one round, maybe two._

_ The guard didn't even have enough time to draw in a breath before Alec put a bullet through his left eye, showering a mist of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter all over the wall._

_ "You a quick-draw, like Billy the Kid or something," Sergei commented with a smile, completely indifferent to the fact that half the head of one of his guards was now sprayed across the corner of his office._

_ Alec wiped down both pistols and indulged in a smile of his own. "No, I'm _way_ faster than Billy the Kid," he bragged, knowing he would only ingratiate himself more with such a claim._

_ "So who's the son of a bitch talking to the Feds?"_

_ "Congressman Reece," Alec answered as he placed the .38's on the desk in front of the Russian gangster. "I'm an intern at his office downtown, and I've seen the Feds around late at night. Heard them talking, and Reece is giving up everything. Mentioned you when he was talking about an off-shore super-tanker pier or something."_

_ "You do it tonight?" Sergei asked, suddenly anxious. Alec heard the gangster's heart rate increase and his breaths become shorter and more frequent. He'd definitely chosen the right project to mention._

_ "He's probably gone home by now," Alec answered. "Can't make it public for you that way."_

_ "Doesn't matter, I guess. Take him out tonight. The family, too."_

_ "I'm not killing the family," Alec retorted firmly, his tone brooking no argument on the matter. "The deal was for Reece, not the family."_

_ "It make you feel bad, killing a woman and kids?"_

_ "It makes me feel unprofessional," Alec countered, sidestepping a question he only could have answered in the affirmative. "Reece went looking for this when he started talking. The family, as far as I know, hasn't done anything. I don't have any personal rules against killing women and children if it serves a purpose, but this would be sloppy."_

_ "This would serve a purpose," Sergei objected coolly, calculatedly. He'd obviously had this conversation before. Alec knew the gangster was about to start his spiel about how it would frighten the next dozen guys who thought they could flip on him, so the transgenic decided to beat him to the punch._

_ "I suppose," Alec admitted. "It would send the message that doing business with you meant not only getting killed, but also getting your family taken out. It would send the message that anyone who worked with the Feds should pull his family off the street and go into protective custody immediately, thus depriving you of your chance to deal with the situation." Alec could see that Sergei wasn't used to having his orders defied, but he thought a little logic would do him some good. _As long as a little logic doesn't get me shot. I'm so not in the mood…__

_ "Fine," Sergei relented. "Kill the Congressman, leave the family alive. Or kill them, if you prefer. I don't care. Come back tomorrow and I'll introduce you to the Old Man."_

_ "The old man?"_

_ "He runs a business north of the city," Sergei explained. "A… how you say… clearinghouse for your line of work. Pay a visit to the Congressman tonight, and I'll get you a job tomorrow."_

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"Hey," Alec muttered weakly to the gravestone at his feet. It read simply, 'Max Guevarra.' No date of birth or death, no inspirational epitaph, no reference to loved ones. _She would have wanted it that way, I guess,_ Alec decided. _By the time she died, most of her friends were already gone. Joshua, Original Cindy, Sketchy, Zack… Nope, if we buried her someplace public, the only ones who would have come are twisted bastards who would've dug her up for the sole purpose of defiling her corpse. Just a simple stone that has enough markings for the last of us to be able to find her, to ask her for guidance. Or forgiveness. That's all she'd ever want. No medals, no memorials. Just peace…_

"I need to do something," Alec said, his eyes directed away from Max's grave and toward the bright green leaves of a nearby oak; five years after her death, and he was still unnerved by the thought of meeting her reproachful stare. "I know I promised never to kill like this," he admitted. "I know I promised I would limit myself to work, never to make it personal. And I even know you would have kicked my ass for doing that much, for what I do for a living," he added.

"And maybe you'd have been right, too. I don't know, Max, it's not like I have any other marketable skills; it's not like I have the luxury of doing anything that might attract too much attention. I am what I am, and I've accepted that. I was very careful to make sure I never got to like it, though," he assured the cold, uninterested gravestone. "You told me that's what you thought might have happened with Ben… that somewhere along the way he discovered he liked being superior, that he liked the feeling killing ordinaries gave him, that he used his Blue Lady as an excuse to do what he'd secretly wanted to do all along. No, Max… I've kept a healthy sense of self-loathing that would make you proud. But not anymore, at least not for awhile."

Alec shrugged helplessly, trying not to think about the absurdity of speaking to a corpse, hoping for a feeling of forgiveness or approval from the one person who had never given him either when she felt he didn't deserve it, who had always been honest, whether he liked it or not. _She was more than a friend to me – so much more – even though she never let me be more than a friend to her._

"I need to let go of the reins for awhile," he explained. "You probably know all about what happened to Keri, and you know what I'm gonna do and why I'm gonna do it. I just… I don't know; I just wanted to let you know, I guess. It's bad enough that I'm gonna let myself be the man that Lydecker always wanted me to be; I couldn't also feel like I was being sneaky about it, like I was trying to keep it all from you. So this is your heads-up, Max. I only hope that when I die, if there _is_ something that comes after, that you forgive me for what I'm about to do."

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He picked the perfect time to strike,_ Alec fumed as he struggled to focus on the task at hand. Every time he thought about White, he was reminded of why he needed to hunt him down and kill him. Thinking about that prompted unwelcome memories of Max, of the ruin White had made of her body, of the bloodbath White had left for him to find. He fought to regain control of the involuntary reaction of his nervous system to the all-too-familiar memory that made every Manticore-inflicted trauma pale in comparison. He focused on his heart rate, consciously ordering it to slow; he took a deep breath, willing his breathing to settle into a more relaxed rhythm; he wiped the sweat from his brow and lied to himself, silently making the case that it was simply too hot in his hotel room._

He picked the perfect time to strike, _Alec thought again, trying to get his mind to stay on task, to allow some modicum of logic and deductive reasoning to complement his primal fury. _I don't believe anyone could be that lucky, so the only logical conclusion is that he had Max under surveillance. He attacked her at home, so whether or not he followed her everywhere she went, he was at least watching her apartment. I guess that's as good a starting point as any.__

_ Alec went over to Max's home, ignoring the yellow police tape ordering him to stay out. The doorframe had been shattered by White's entry, but the cops had secured the door with a latch and a padlock. Alec made short work of picking that and then, only after a Herculean effort, willed himself through the doorway. The heavy scent of blood had grown stale, practically gagging the transgenic as he cursed the advantage of heightened olfactory senses. He averted his eyes from the familiar surroundings as much as he could, hoping that might help him pretend the now brown and caked blood splatter belonged to some random, unfortunate stranger._

_ He made his way over to the window – the one where a small piece of gray tissue, once spongy but now resembling dried-up clay, was held fast to the frame by a large spot of blood. Alec took another deep breath, trying to steel his resolve, but he felt the room start to spin. He realized immediately that there was no way he would be able to fight off the sudden wave of nausea, so he simply dashed to the bathroom, barely managing to reach the toilet before he regurgitated the sour-smelling, partially digested bourbon and cheese-fries he'd had the night before. It wasn't until several minutes of dry heaves later that the transgenic felt capable of standing and walking back into the living room. He wiped down the bowl and flushed away the evidence that anyone had been there, and then went back to work._

_ The apartment had three windows, all along the west side of the building. Alec smiled as he remembered Max explaining how she'd purposely selected an apartment with no east-facing windows; on the rare occasions she actually fell asleep, she hated sunlight streaming in and waking her prematurely._

Okay, so if I were White, I'd want a vantage point that allowed me to look through all three windows at once,_ Alec decided, pushing away thoughts of his lost friend_. He'd have to see as much of the place as possible if he were going to make sure that she was alone before he attacked. _Alec pulled a small telescope from his pocket and began to scan the skyline spread out before him. A quick estimate told him he was looking at thousands of windows that might fit his initial criterion. _Okay, time to trim the field a bit…. He'd have to be close,_ Alec decided as he mentally crossed out the buildings that were more than five blocks away. _After all, he couldn't be sure he'd have much time to get the job done. The last thing he needed was to waste valuable seconds just getting here.

_The transgenic continued to scan the surroundings, deciding that he could also eliminate the three office buildings that were in his five-block radius._ He wouldn't want to be watching from someplace where he might be noticed. So I'm looking at apartment buildings and hotels… No, I'm only looking at hotels, _Alec concluded, deciding to play a hunch_. The last thing White needs is attention, and that's what he might get in an apartment building. There's always the chance of some nosy neighbor taking an interest in him, or simply noticing something unusual about him. Hotels, by their very nature, are impersonal. People almost go out of their way not to notice each other. _Taking his time, scanning far more carefully, Alec picked out five hotels that fit all of his criteria._

Just one of those five, _Alec decided, feeling a strange calm descend upon him._ I can't imagine he's still there, but someone will remember him, someone will point me in the right direction. He won't get away this time.

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	8. Becoming What One Was

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** As before, sorry it took longer than I planned to get this chapter posted. The entire story was finished well over a month ago, but I decided something about it was just wrong. So I sent it out for a review from my trusty old beta, **Moonbeam**. (Well, she also goes by the name of **Moonbeam's Predilections**, but just typing **Moonbeam** is easier, and I'm rather lazy.) She did a fantastic job, especially with two scenes that needed serious attention. I cannot thank her enough for her input, all of which was invaluable in making the second half of this story readable.

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**Becoming What One Was**

_Okay, that wasn't quite as easy as I've been assuming it would be,_ Alec admitted to himself, practically wheezing from the effort of running eight miles. _True, I could have kept up with most recreational runners over that distance, but I should be able to do that in world record time. Too many years of living on cigarettes, bourbon, and burgers. That ends now._

He glanced around his new apartment, a rattrap hole in the wall that made his old place look palatial in comparison, wondering if he should take the time to empty his living space of all temptations. It only took a moment to decide against it. _I'll never have another cigarette,_ he promised himself. _I don't need them, and they've obviously slowed me down enough to make me vulnerable. I'll keep the bourbon, but I won't touch it 'til my job is done._

The transgenic walked across the room to stand over a footlocker he'd put away years earlier. _Nothing special in there,_ he tried to tell himself, noting that he was having little success. _Just don't think about it,_ he thought stoically, ignoring his mind's suggestion that he was looking at Pandora's Box, and that it contained far more than just a few objects he hadn't used for a long time. _There's a part of me in there,_ he mused, immediately wondering if he was maybe being a little melodramatic. _A part of me I swore never to reawaken._ He winced as he opened the latch and looked inside. There, just where he'd left them, were weapons he'd never thought he'd use again – a Walther PPK, two Beretta 93Rs, and two H&K MP-5s. No boogeyman jumped out at him; a thin layer of dust had accumulated over the past five years, but other than that there was nothing he didn't fully expect to find. Each weapon still looked almost new, and the strong scent of gun oil bore witness to the care that had been shown to the firearms during their period of use several years earlier.

_Five years ago,_ Alec thought absently. _Feels like it's been at least twenty-five._ He started with the Walther, taking it out and feeling it settle right back into his grasp as perfectly as it ever had. _James Bond's gun,_ Alec remembered with a smile, Logan's words coming back to him from the past. Alec hadn't even known who James Bond was when Logan made the comment, but in the years since he'd become a fan of 007. At least in the books. As far as the movies went, he felt that only the Sean Connery features (with the notable exception of _Never Say Never Again_) really seemed to capture the essence of Ian Fleming's super-spy.

Alec stripped down the weapon and began to clean it, his fingers passing lightly over the metal, his transgenically enhanced sense of touch searching for the slightest indication that any parts would need to be replaced. _First I go for a run, and then I take out the PPK. Next thing I know I'll be back in the gym._ The thought had been random, but it reminded him that he really _should_ find someplace nearby where he could work out.

_If I'm gonna do this, I'm gonna do it right. I'll do it the way I did during the war, when Max and I trained together. Eight to twelve miles every morning, then meal time, then firearms practice and cleaning, then weights, hand-to-hand, and the ever-popular 'grab bag.'_ The 'grab bag' class had tormented him for five years. Some days he loved the hour-and-a-half training session, as when they stole sports cars and practiced high-speed urban driving or had refresher courses in HALO jumps. But for every fun day like that, there were two days of lessons in assorted boring or uncomfortable subjects like explosives disarming (he'd always argued the best method would be running in the opposite direction), safecracking (already one of his specialties) underwater hand-to-hand (he hated getting wet), or his personal favorite – resisting torture (he couldn't think of where to begin listing the reasons he detested that).

_I think I'll forget about grab bag time,_ he decided without a hint of guilt. _It's not like there's anyone else here to share new skills like we did back in the day. I already know all the secondary skills I'm gonna need. Maybe I'll review once in awhile, but I don't expect this to take too long. I'll track down my target, torture him for a few months, and then I'll eventually kill him. Not too tough._

He started writing a mental grocery list, trying to decide what foods both tasted good and would provide the protein and carbohydrates he'd need for serious training. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't figure out a way to make General Tso's Chicken and pork fried rice fit the bill. He could just imagine the kind of comments Max would make. _"I hope for your target's sake you find him fast, because you're gonna be **really** nasty if you have to avoid fried foods for any extended period of time."_

He shook his head violently, chasing away the mirthful thought. _Fuck being happy. Fuck making jokes. I screwed up, and now Keri's dead. First Rache. Then Max. Now Keri. I let myself go. I got lazy. I got sloppy. I got stupid. Now I have to fix it, and that means I have to be focused the way I was back in Gillette._ Despite his intentions, he smiled as he realized what Max would have said to that. _"When you were in Gillette you were a smart-ass punk who even then was working the system. In exactly what way were you focused?"_

"I could have taken on an entire Delta unit by myself and won," he muttered to the ghost of his dead friend. "Now I'd be lucky to escape two 13-year olds with BB-guns." That was enough to chase away any thoughts of Max… and what had happened to her. His body started to shake as he remembered what he had gone through after his friend's death – the winding road that led to vengeance, the resolution of his quest when he finally came face-to-face with White. _I spent five years trying to forget those weeks, and now all of a sudden I'm actually trying to get back to being that guy._ Like a dam that had given out, he found his defenses against his annoyingly human emotions had collapsed, and now he was being overwhelmed.

_Two weeks,_ he decided, exerting all of his effort on directing his concentration away from his own emotional turmoil and toward pragmatic matters of physical training. _I'll need two weeks to get to the point where I'm far and away better than any ordinary. Within two weeks I may not have even figured out who did this,_ he decided, part of him missing the ease of his quest the last time he had given in to the thrill of vengeance. This time there was no superhuman adversary he had left alive in the past, given a chance to come back to start the next chapter of their feud in the fullness of time._ I should have plenty of time to get ready. Whoever it is probably has money, and guards, and friends. And they're all gonna die. I'm going to kill every last fucking one of them._

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_"You seen this guy?" Alec asked curtly as he walked up to what passed for the front desk at the Tikki Motel, holding up a sketch of White that he'd drawn the night before. It was his second stop that morning, and the décor didn't impress him much more than the previous motel had. The charcoal gray carpet was threadbare everywhere but at the base of the walls, which were covered by an off- red wallpaper that he assumed used to be burgundy, decorated with small gold stars. If Alec had cared to give it any thought, he might have decided that the combination of crappy colors and dim, yellowish light almost gave the impression that he had walked into a poorly colorized late 1940's film-noir thriller. _Still, at least the rooms here aren't rented by the hour,_ he noted as he glanced at the rates, printed long ago on a coffee-stained sheet of paper that was taped to the wall behind the clerk._

_"Never seen him before in my life," the clerk answered without even looking up from his Mad Magazine._

_"Perhaps you'd like to look at the picture before reaching a conclusion," Alec suggested evenly. The man had obviously had years of practice in appearing disinterested in life._

_The clerk glanced up just long enough to tell that Alec was holding a piece of paper, and then looked back at the latest adventures of Spy vs. Spy. "Nope, never seen him."_

_"I see." Alec approached, noting that the clerk's left hand came away from the magazine and moved toward a shelf that was under his desk, just out of sight. Alec leaped forward, his body a blur as he punched the guy squarely in the middle of the forehead, stunning him for a moment and giving the transgenic an opportunity to vault over the desk and grab the .32 that had been within the clerk's reach moments before. "One last try, maybe?" he suggested patiently, popping open the revolver's cylinder and dumping the shells onto the floor._

_The clerk finally gave the picture his full attention. "Yeah, he was staying in Room 214. Checked out three days ago."_

_"Do you know where he went?"_

_"No. I swear." The smell of sweat and unspent adrenaline rolled off of the clerk – he was every bit as scared as Alec wanted him to be._

_"What else can you tell me about him?"_

_"He always paid cash, always a week in advance. It was always quiet in there, like he was never around, but I never saw him come or go. Didn't get any girls, didn't look for any… umm… extras," the clerk added, his dazed mind unable to produce a suitable euphemism for drugs. "He said his name was Smith. John Smith."_

And I'll bet there are enough John Smiths here to hold a convention,_ Alec thought angrily but without any surprise. He hadn't expected White to leave behind any useful clues. _Except… _He remembered what the clerk had said about paying cash._

It's a good bet White went out from time to time, whether anyone saw him leave or not, and he's certainly not the type to leave lots of money lying about a motel room in a place like this. I also don't see him as the type to wander around town with hundreds, probably thousands of dollars in his pockets. Credit cards are out, since even stolen ones are traceable… not that it looks like this place does business on anything other than a cash-only basis. He'd probably want ready access to money._ "Where's the nearest bank?" Alec asked, taking a step back to give the clerk some room, to let him know that Alec was about done with him._

_"Down the block and around the corner – Second National."_

_Alec didn't bother to offer any thanks, he simply leaped back over the counter and left, deciding that allowing the clerk to keep his life should be thanks enough. Once outside, Alec walked over to his van and climbed inside, looking for a suitable disguise. Minutes later, he was walking inside the Second National Bank._

_"Could I please speak to the bank manager?" Alec asked, flashing a Seattle police badge and fake I.D. The young teller behind the window – he guessed she couldn't be more than eighteen – seemed to shrivel in front of him, obviously intimidated by his identity as a cop. _I guess that's to be expected, though, when you grew up in a veritable police state. The people in charge can talk about how civil rights are being returned to the people as the government and society become more stable, but you can't change the nature of people who've only known an Orwellian wonderland.

_"Could you… umm… could you wait a minute," she stammered. "I… I'll get him." Alec nodded with a grim, official-looking demeanor he'd borrowed from reruns of Dragnet._

_He waited patiently at the teller window, taking advantage of the seconds he was permitted to look over his surroundings. And the security system. He had just completed his mental assessment and catalogue of the various cameras and visible security measures when the branch manager came out from a back office and greeted him with a friendly – but wary – smile._

_"Can I help you officer?" the man asked. If Alec had been asked to imagine the prototypical bank manager, this man would not have come to mind. He stood almost six and a half feet tall and had large, muscular shoulders that better suited an NFL linebacker than a bank manager. Jet-black hair only served to make his already striking ice-blue eyes seem more pronounced, and the conservative three-piece charcoal gray suit was so well-cut that it more than made up for the fact that the only nod to ornamentation was the simple platinum wedding band on his left hand._

_"Detective," Alec answered gruffly, resisting the temptation to scratch at the fake mustache that was tickling his upper lip. _Can't take the chance that the adhesive will be weak._ His disguise was simple but thorough – a mustache, black wig, gold-framed glasses, a rumpled gray suit, and some body padding to change the shape of his figure. He'd decided he looked a good ten to fifteen years older, so long as no one looked too closely and noticed how wrinkle-free his face was. That had always been his problem with disguises – he'd just never been able to get the fake wrinkles right – and after years of pathetic failures, Major Richards, the military intelligence officer who had trained the transgenics in disguise and infiltration techniques, had finally told Alec to give up. His advice had been simple. 'Always disguise yourself as some kind of official,' he'd said. 'You keep applying wrinkles like that, you're gonna attract far more attention than if you just go without. People are gonna think you have some kind of crazy skin condition or something. No, dress as army or police officers, and people will naturally avert eye contact. Maybe that'll give you the edge you need.'_

_The advice had thus far been beyond beneficial. Alec generally avoided trying to change his apparent age, but when he did he always went for the police officer look. It just happened that such an approach was doubly useful for his current purposes._

_"I'm sorry… Detective," the manager apologized, extending his hand. He showed no sign of actually being thrown off by his faux pas. In fact, though still wary, the manager had the air of a man who knew that though his visitor might be able to make life difficult, it did not change the fact that he was still king of his castle. "I'm Mr. Persson."_

_A light went on in Alec's head as soon as he heard the name, but he only grunted in response, knowing his impersonal demeanor would help to put Persson on the defensive. _And that'll hopefully keep him from asking my name or confirming my I.D. downtown,_ Alec thought happily. He'd had the foresight to expect such a possibility and had accordingly used the I.D. of a real officer, but if Persson asked for a physical description of the 'Detective Brien' that stood before him, he would discover very quickly that Alec was an imposter. "I'm here looking for a simple piece of information," Alec grumbled, trying to keep his voice about an octave lower than usual; it was how he thought someone of his apparent age and weight would sound. He pulled out the sketch of White and showed it to Persson. "I'm looking for this guy."_

_"Is there a name that I can --"_

_"No," Alec interrupted. "Lots of aliases, and I don't know which one he may have used here. All I got's a picture."_

_"Exactly what is it you want, detective?"_

_"Only to ask your employees if they've seen him around, and if so, whether they can remember his name."_

_"I see…" Persson's voice trailed off, and Alec decided it was time to shift his personality somewhat as he played his one-man game of good cop-bad cop. He had done his best to put Persson on the defensive, now it was time to take him into his confidence, to make him feel special and exempt from the gruff attitude that Alec would use with everyone else. _Time to play the card I was unexpectedly dealt when I heard his name.

_"You said your name was Persson?" Alec asked as he pulled out his notepad and pen, making like he was about to make a note of the uncooperative attitude of the bank's manager._

_"Yes, that's right."_

_"That wouldn't be Eric Persson by any chance, would it?"_

_"As a matter of fact, it is."_

_"Thought so," Alec replied, allowing a thin smile to cross his lips. "Defensive end, Washington Huskies. You know, I lost a hundred bucks on that Rose Bowl game you guys got crushed by Michigan. What was that, 48-13?"_

_"48-12," Persson corrected, looking notably less than thrilled with the conversation._

_"I remember you had six and a half sacks, though," Alec continued. "They couldn't stop you, even if no one else on your team looked like they showed up that day. That was one of the most insane defensive performances I've ever seen."_

_"I would have rather had no sacks and won," Persson said, and Alec could tell he was telling the truth and not just speaking the same cliché that most athletes uttered as a matter of course. _Team player. I hope that helps make this a bit easier.

_"Look, I'll be honest," Alec said smoothly, almost conspiratorially, preparing a thoroughly convincing lie while ignoring the skepticism that stubbornly remained behind Persson's eyes. "I don't have a warrant. You know how it is with the new judges – they're all card-carrying members of the ACLU – and while I appreciate the fact that we're trying to change the way things are done, I also can't sleep while this guy is still on the streets. Every scumbag out there has money to track, but the bank fraud this guy has committed against you is just the tip of the iceberg. We want him because he's running a kiddie porn ring." _You never know how apathetic someone might be about crime in today's day and age, but mention kiddie porn and people are liable to go apeshit. Drug dealing and robberies are one thing, but doing sick, twisted shit to kids will motivate people to bust your ass.

_"Kiddie porn?" Persson asked, latching onto the bait with the tenacity of a bulldog._

_"Sick bastard runs websites and mail-order catalogues, and we're lookin' at him for at least three kidnappings, all of which I'm sure led to sale in the sex slave trade. Latest one is a nine year old girl."_

_"Son of a bitch," Persson muttered. "I have an eight year old girl, myself." _Just as I hoped,_ Alec thought happily. He wondered how Major Richards would grade this performance. "You just need to speak with some employees, right?" Persson asked, suddenly sounding like a man who had taken a personal interest in letting the cops get their hands on Alec's suspect._

_"I'm also gonna want to see your bank records in case anyone remembers anything useful." Alec hated to up the ante right away, but he decided it would be better to strike while the iron was hot, while Persson's disgust at the thought of pedophiles transferring their ill-gotten gains through his bank might help outweigh his concerns about confidentiality in bank records. "I'm asking for your help," he added earnestly. "Help us get this bastard before he gets his hooks into someone else's kid."_

_"I understand your concerns, detective," Persson answered, seeming truly pained by having to reject Alec's request, "but I'm not permitted to reveal any of our banking information unless you have a warrant. If you come back with a warrant, though, I'd be happy to have my entire staff assist you in getting what you need as quickly as possible." Alec sighed slightly as he realized he was going to be forced into undertaking Plan B. That meant breaking in after-hours, taking god only knew how long to hack into the computer's mainframe. Just the thought was enough to make his blood boil; he was all about instant gratification while hunting down his prey. "Now if, perhaps, you could call one of your fellow detectives at the station and see if they could maybe get a warrant today…"_

_"I'll go down there myself," Alec muttered, trying to sound more irritated than disappointed, though he had to admit he was indifferent to whether he'd failed miserably in his attempt._

_"Or maybe you're one of those cops who knows people in the courthouse?" Persson commented unexpectedly almost as soon as Alec started moving toward the door. Alec cast a suspicious look at the bank manager. "Oh please, I know how things work in this city," he added with a half-smile. "Perhaps you'd prefer to send an email or something? While I can't give you any information right now, I can, as I said, offer what assistance I'm permitted. How about you ask the tellers if they've seen your suspect, and I'll log onto one of the computers so you can… send an email about him to one of your contacts. If you have any." A conspiratorial nod of the head gave Alec hope._

_He went over to the teller he'd spoken to upon entering and showed the sketch of White. "Have you seen this man?"_

_She nodded nervously. "Every Friday, sir. He comes in and withdraws one thousand dollars in cash. He usually comes to my window, since I'm here every Friday when we open, which is when he comes in. I don't have any classes on Fridays, and --"_

_"I get the picture," he cut her off with a casual wave of his hand. "Do you happen to remember his name?"_

_"Blanco," the teller replied, eliciting a sardonic chuckle from the transgenic. "I remember because it's a Spanish name, and he doesn't look Mexican or anything."_

_"Yup, he doesn't look Mexican or anything," Alec agreed. _What a wonderfully American answer,_ he thought mirthfully. "You happen to remember his first name?"_

_"No, but it's something normal. Something like William or Robert or something."_

_"Something normal," Alec grumbled. "Sure. Is there anyone else who'd maybe remember him?"_

_"Not right now. Suzy mighta known, but she got fired last week." The teller leaned closer and lowered her voice, almost as if she was about to impart the secret of the universe. "She was dipping into the till."_

_"Anyone else?" Alec asked impatiently._

_"Maybe Karen, but she isn't here today. She only works on Thursdays and Fridays."_

_"Thank you for your help, ma'am," Alec said quickly, turning on his heel and heading back in the Persson's direction before the nameless teller could speak any more. He found her voice and attitude to be slightly reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard._

_"I hope you found something that could help you get a warrant," the manager said pleasantly._

_"I think so."_

_"That's great," Persson responded. He backed his chair away from the desk. "I've logged you onto the system so you can contact your people. I'll give you a few minutes, since I'm sure you'd like to protect their anonymity."_

_"You're very understanding," Alec said pleasantly as he sat down, immediately having his suspicions confirmed – Persson had logged onto the main server, giving Alec full access to the bank's records. _I could divert millions right now,_ Alec marveled, dumbfounded at the manager's foolishly trusting attitude. He resisted his larcenous temptations, though, and started searching for customers named "Blanco." It didn't take him long to find Charles Blanco, who'd been into the bank every Friday, withdrawing one thousand dollars each time. His address was the Tikki Motel around the corner, but a quick search of the account's history showed that the initial deposit was a transfer from Whitney Bank, headquartered in New Orleans. Thanking the fates at how much easier it was to access a bank's records when working with a request from another bank, Alec was able to get a second address for Mr. Blanco, this one in Metairie, Louisiana, a New Orleans suburb._

My only lead is in New Orleans?_ he thought with disappointment._ The fact that I traced him back to there probably means that that's where he was hiding out during the war. But the only reason he would have gone back now is if he expected – and wanted – me to track him back there. So either he's disappeared again, or he's waiting for me._ Neither possibility was particularly attractive, but Alec couldn't think of any immediate way to track White down in Seattle, if in fact that was where he was. Though he hated to consider it, he was forced to go to Louisiana and hope for the best._

_He stood from the terminal and waved at the manager. "Mr. Persson, I want to thank you for your assistance this morning. It doesn't look like I'm gonna be able to get that warrant just yet, but I hope you're true to your word and will help us as much as possible once we have enough probable cause on this bastard."_

_"Of course, detective."_

_Alec shook hands again with Mr. Persson, making a mental note to send a stuffed bear or something to the guy's daughter. _After all, it was really her that got me what I needed in here this morning. Nothing motivates a guy more to do his civic duty than making him think about what might happen to his own child if he refuses to get involved._ Alec left quickly, still playing the part of the irritated though gracious police detective, making certain that none of the bank's employees suspected that Persson had broken the bank's policies by handing out privileged information. The teller had shown just how much people inside talked, and he didn't want Persson to lose his job just because of the slight indiscretion of aiding in a vendetta._

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Alec checked himself in the mirror of his stolen taxi one last time as he stopped at a red light at Donovan and Elm. He was only a few blocks from his destination, a few blocks from the Old Man's home. He knew what would happen to him if he were so much as seen in the neighborhood, to say nothing of actually getting caught out here. The Old Man – Alec shook his head at the fact that he'd never managed to unearth the actual name of his employer – had gone out of his way to make certain that none of his sub-contractors knew where he lived. In fact, Alec had only met the Old Man once, over dinner at Gasperi's. That was when Sergei Ivanov had made the introductions that earned Alec a career.

Years at Manticore, and the brutal deprogramming that followed when he entered the 'real world,' had made Alec suspicious of authority. He was more than willing to follow the orders of someone who paid him as well as the Old Man promised to, but he hated not knowing the slightest thing about his employer. So he waited until the morning of the fifteenth on the second month he was in the Old Man's employ. The courier dropped off the month's assignments – Alec remembered there had been three folders in that day's package – and then did an excellent job of eluding any possible pursuit. Had he lacked either his transgenic enhancements or his rigorous Manticore training, Alec was certain he would have lost the man during the three days it took for the courier to report back to his boss. _Guy was definitely former CIA,_ Alec remembered concluding. He had used many of the trademark methods of the U.S.'s premier per-Pulse intelligence agency, and Alec ended up spending more time wondering how the Old Man found such employees than he did wondering about the Old Man himself.

In the end, Alec's pursuit had led to a quiet Seattle suburb that looked like something out of a Frank Capra film. _Not just something out of pre-Pulse America, but out of 1950's America,_ Alec had decided. _In some perverse way, it just seems like the perfect place for a murder-for-hire clearinghouse. In fact, it's probably because of the Old Man that this place is so frighteningly idyllic. No criminal with even half a brain cell working would try to do business in the neighborhood of a man who employs god only knows how many professional assassins._

The light turned green but Alec remained where he was, taking an extra few moments to gather himself. "Keep your head in the game," he muttered to himself, noting with satisfaction the unlikely mishmash of Russian and Spanish accents that colored his diction. He winked at himself in the mirror, satisfied that the fake tan lotion, glue-on black moustache, black wig, and red hairnet would do a satisfactory job of hiding his true identity from most casual observers. "They'll never notice you," he assured himself. "You're like a ghost. An elusive, Russian-Mexican ghost." He smiled at the sound of his voice, wondering why he'd even gone to the trouble of imposing such an accent on himself. _It's not like most Americans would be able to appreciate the artistry of my lingual abilities. I don't think there're many people in this country who'd recognize the difference between an Italian and a French accent, to say nothing of what I'm doing right now. Now that time in Vladivostok, when I had to speak Russian with a Lithuanian accent… that was tough. And people noticed. It sucks not being appreciated for the genius I am…_

The honking horn of a driver behind him reminded Alec that he was sitting at a green light, so he made his turn onto Elm, scanning his surroundings for the slightest hint of a threat even as he made a silent wish that he would find something useful out here in the 'burbs. _The Old Man is the most logical starting point, but if it wasn't him…_ Alec struggled to fight away the endless possibilities, the rogue's gallery of enemies he had made over the years and who would all be interested in a little payback. _I didn't get an assignment for the first time in years, and I just happened to get this unexpected time off within hours of my apartment being hit and Keri being killed. I don't believe in coincidences – it has to be the Old Man. _

Three blocks up, he turned left onto Clinton and slowed down, heightening his guard and trying to look as though he was searching for an address in an unfamiliar neighborhood. _That's how a cabbie would act,_ he told himself. _Don't forget, you're just a cabbie. Don't do anything that would raise anyone's suspicions._

A moment later, all of his precautions suddenly seemed silly. He came around a slight curve and caught sight of the Old Man's house. Yellow police tape surrounded the structure, and it appeared as if at least one room on the second floor had received some fire damage.

He pulled over and got out hesitantly, still looking at the homes around him, gazing at the addresses as he scratched his head, pantomiming confusion. He noticed a young woman pushing a baby carriage along the sidewalk and decided she was the best person to ask for information.

"'Scuse me, miss," he said in his garbled accent. "I's looking for Carter Avenue. Dat near here?"

"Carter _Street_," the young woman commented condescendingly. Alec had initially guessed she was a nanny, as he couldn't imagine how a woman with what appeared to be a three- or four-month old infant could have hips like hers, but her attitude spoke more of someone who'd grown up in a safe, affluent neighborhood. Few women who enjoyed such a privilege ended up as nannies to other well-to-do families. _Nope, she's someone's daughter… probably visiting or babysitting. Maybe house-sitting…_

"Carter Street, I sorry," he said humorlessly. "Is dis Carter?"

"This is _Clinton_," the young woman said impatiently. She took a half step to brush past Alec, but he countered her move and kept her in front of him.

"Clinton," he repeated. "I mussa make wrong turn."

"Obviously."

"But de man on de phone, he say he near de burned house," Alec added. "Like dat house dere. Dat have a fire?"

"No, there was a gunfight there," the woman retorted in her increasingly irritating know-it-all voice. The look on her face belied her disappointment in letting slip something she would rather not have said.

Alec decided he should press the subject, hoping maybe he could succeed not only in getting some information, but also maybe pissing her off. "A gunfight? Like in a robbery?"

"I guess. They killed the old guy who lived there… never would have thought something like that could happen in a neighborhood like this."

"Happen recently?"

"Five nights ago," she answered impatiently. "No wait… six. It was six nights ago. You mind?" she asked, once again moving to get past him.

"Dank you much," Alec said. "I go look for Carter Street."

"You do that."

Dozens of possibilities were presenting themselves in Alec's mind, but he pushed his thoughts from his head. _I have to get out of here **now**,_ he told himself. _There could be people watching, and the longer I stand here, out in the open, the greater the chances of someone identifying me. I can figure this all out later._

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_A hideous smile spread across Ames White's swollen, split lips, offering a glimpse of his shattered teeth; defiant eyes gazed back from a puffy, purple face streaked with blood and sweat. For all Alec had grown to despise his captive, he couldn't help but admire the way White took punishment._ Two weeks,_ he thought with a previously inconceivable amalgamation of near-complete frustration and stunned awe._ I've beaten him, burned him, electrocuted him, drugged him, hit him with enough sleep deprivation to cause a psychotic break, and still he's able to hold out. Under other circumstances I'd be so blown away by the feat that I'd set him free just on principle. But I can't do that, can I?

_"You're tougher than I ever imagined," Alec admitted. White grunted in response. He'd stopped talking three days earlier, and Alec chalked that up to some degree of success on his part – White simply no longer seemed to have the strength, or perhaps the cognitive ability, to speak. "I'd love to keep this little experiment going," he continued, "but the truth of the matter is that I don't have any more time. The situation is getting worse, and my extended absences haven't gone unnoticed. I still need info from you, but it's obvious that if I keep this up you'll succeed in pushing to the point that you die, rather than break. I can't have that." Alec noted the slightly defeated tone in his voice; while he hated the fact that it was genuine, he also knew it served his purposes. He needed White to think he'd won, or at least that he was winning. Alec had gotten to the end of the line with his guest, and it was time to play the last card he had._

_"The funny thing is that you've spent the past two weeks struggling to find a way to sleep, to regain some energy to continue opposing me. But I know that tonight, as soon as I leave and turn off the light so you can finally have what you've been hoping for, you're gonna try to keep yourself awake as long as possible, to keep your body sliding toward death. Just to spite me. Too bad you're human enough to keep that from happening; you'll sleep, and you'll get some of your strength back. Then we'll see where we are." Alec left his prisoner alone, turning out the lights and leaving the speakers and electrified floor plates off. _We'll let him rest a bit. I need him to be clear-headed for what I have planned. He has to be completely aware of what's going on, or it won't work.__

_Once he was out of the room, he waited. Ten long, boring hours crept by as he let White sleep, regaining his strength and allowing his mind to begin recovering from the stress it had been under. As the appointed hour approached, Alec was surprised to discover how much he didn't want to follow through with his plan._ There's no other way,_ he told himself, though his doubts remained and a strange twinge of nausea started to well up within him. "If Max ever finds out…"_

She'll never find out,_ he assured himself. _She'd never understand why it was necessary._ He sprang to his feet and walked quickly to the back room, determined to begin before his maddening conscience could instill any more doubt within him._

_"Wake up!" he shouted as he entered White's cell. White's eyes flickered open, and his sick grin returned._

_"You let your prisoner sleep?" he asked mockingly, surprising Alec with the amount of strength he'd seemed to recover in such a relatively short time. "What kind of interrogation techniques did they teach you at Manticore?" Alec ignored him. "I mean, I thought transgenics were supposed to be bright. That's what my father used to say, anyway. He made fantastic claims about your abilities, but in the end you've proven to be no better than the common man – just another talking monkey taking up space a few steps down the evolutionary ladder."_

_"This is your last chance," Alec said evenly, suddenly turning to stare into the Familiar's eyes. He was startled to find himself offering a merciful final opportunity to give in, despite the fact that he knew White would never accept. Alec again silently cursed Max's influence as he struggled to ignore White's mocking glare. "Fine," he sighed. "Don't ever forget that you had this chance, and that you chose to throw it away. Everything that happens from here on out is on your head."_

_Alec walked out of the room and returned immediately, wheeling the machine he had used earlier for electro-shock therapy. The Familiar looked at the machine and sneered. "Back to square one?" he guessed. "Or was that square two?" Alec ignored him. He poked his head outside the room again, only to bring in the chair he had strapped White into during the first day of his imprisonment. "How many days have we been here, just to have you decide to start all over?" White scoffed. "You must have been in Manticore's remedial classes."_

_Alec continued to ignore the Familiar's taunts as he began to pore over White's shackles. He did notice, however, that Ames fell silent when Alec did not move him over to the second chair. Again Alec left the room, which was not only silent as a grave, but also suddenly seemed colder. Alec allowed a few painful minutes to creep by before he finally returned, allowing White's mind to wander and tease him with imagined terrors that would never be matched by anything Alec could imagine. When Alec finally reappeared, he had Ray's limp body slung over his shoulder._

_White's eyes went wide with stunned disbelief, and then narrowed into a venomous stare. "You wouldn't dare," he spat as Alec placed Ray into the second chair and securely strapped him in._

_"I'm not Max," Alec stated simply. "If she had her way, Ray would still be safely hidden somewhere halfway across the country. But you made the mistake of pissing me off, so now we get to play hardball. Like I said, everything that happens from here on out is on your head."_

_"You're bluffing," Ames said. Alec noticed the hint of uncertainty in his captive's voice, and he didn't bother to suppress his satisfied smile. The transgenic reached into his medical bag, pulled out a syringe, and injected a stimulant into Ray's arm, waking him up. The child was groggy, but he was certainly aware enough to realize that he was being held captive, and that his father – looking far worse for wear – was with him and unable to help._

_Before the child could speak, Alec slapped a piece of duct tape over his mouth. "I really don't care what he has to say," he commented with a shrug as he glanced back at White. "We can still hear him scream, and that's all I need. How about you?"_

_"You have no idea what I'll do to you if you go through with this," White threatened. Alec's only response was to cut off the tee shirt that Ray was wearing and place electrodes over his chest. The child was obviously starting to panic, and Alec almost fell over in shock as he heard a completely unfamiliar tone of voice coming from Ames' mouth. "It's all right, Ray," the Familiar said soothingly, reassuringly. "It's going to be all right. Remember all the things I taught you, and you'll get through this."_

_Rather than comfort, White's words seemed to cause Ray to grow ever more anxious. He was starting to realize that his father was powerless to help him, that he was completely at the mercy of a stranger who'd already worked his father over ruthlessly._

_"I'd love to see if I could break you," Alec told White, "but like I said before, time is short. So now we won't concern ourselves with your ability to withstand pain. Now we'll deal with Ray. I've already asked you a hundred times what I want to know, so I won't bother with any of that shit anymore. I'm just going to stand here and let you watch Ray. Feel free to contribute at any time." Alec pressed a button; Ray winced, and then let a tear slip. Alec looked to White and saw that the Familiar's gaze was riveted on his child; it was obvious that Ames was proud of his son's bravery. "That was the lowest setting," the transgenic stated. "I won't be using that one again. From here on out it gets nasty." He pressed another button, and Ray winced again. The next button on the machine's long faceplate elicited a moan, and the one after that a scream that only seemed more horrific for being muffled by the duct tape._

_Minutes passed, and White never turned from Ray. Several times Alec wondered whether Ames was trying to make a point, that he could even face the torture of his son. But there was also what Alec had heretofore found unthinkable – that White was trying to support his son, to share his pain and imbue with him with the strength to endure. _Just like a normal father would,_ Alec marveled, wondering if the same Ames White who seemed so distraught over his son's pain was the same man who had followed his people's traditions and strangled his first two children when they were fresh from the womb._

_Fifteen minutes later, Ray was slightly convulsing with every shock, though his eyes, completely dried up, no longer shed tears. He wheezed with every breath, struggling to get enough air through his nose. His breathing grew increasingly labored, and Alec decided to remove the duct tape. _Not that it matters at this point,_ he decided. _The kid's hardly conscious.__

_"Dad?" Ray whimpered, at a loss for what to do with the man who had always protected him suddenly being unable to offer so much as a comforting pat on the back._

_"There are no words to express the amount of pain you're going to endure," Ames White seethed, finally turning from his child and leveling a murderous glare at his captor. "I'm going to keep you alive for months as I work you over, you fucking freak. I'm going to take you apart, piece by freakish piece, just like you were thrown together in the first place."_

_"Then keep this in mind when you do it," Alec commented, finally pushing the button that he knew would knock Ray unconscious. The child passed out, though he continued to twitch for several moments afterward. Ames looked back to his son, then promptly began to dry heave for several minutes, giving Alec enough time to unstrap Ray and take him into the holding room next door._

_"Please excuse me while I freshen young Ray up," Alec said mockingly as he glanced back at Ames. "He's not going to have much time to rest, and I want him as fit as possible for the burn session. You remember how that goes, right? I believe that was Stage 3." The transgenic closed the door behind him, and then carried the unconscious boy out of the holding room and down a hallway to a spare bedroom._

_He untied Ray's hands and placed a damp cloth on his forehead, trying to comfort the boy as he struggled not to think of what he'd just done. Or what he was about to do. The shelf on the wall next to him, containing jars of acids, alkaloids, accelerants, and a canister of liquid nitrogen all made that well nigh impossible._

_Ray began to stir, and Alec tried to soothe him. "Relax," he told the child. "It'll all be over soon." _At least, I hope it will.

_"Dad?"_

_"He's not here," Alec replied. "He's… tied up," he added, grimacing at what might have been considered an unintentional joke in other circumstances._

_"I want to see my dad," the boy wheezed._

_"Soon."_

_"Very soon," another voice said from behind Alec. The transgenic turned just in time to see the broken steel chair leg in Ames' hand slam down on his left shoulder. His collarbone shattered under the impact, and Alec fought to maintain consciousness as he staggered away, bumping up against the wall. White swung again but Alec, still seeing spots, managed to dodge and produce a butterfly knife in his right hand. An instant later the chair leg connected with his right forearm, knocking the weapon from his grasp and causing his entire right arm to go numb._

How the hell did he escape?_ Alec asked himself as he fought to gain some quarter. He looked at the chair leg – it had been bent until it broke at the weld point. _He actually snapped the chair apart without getting any leverage,_ Alec marveled, realizing that the only thing that had likely kept Ames a prisoner as long as he'd been was the fact that he started out in the stronger chair that Ray had been sitting in for the greater part of the last hour. It wasn't until he was already broken down a bit that Ames had been secured to the smaller, less sturdy chair. _And I'm the asshole who let him sleep and get some of his strength back…__

_White gave Alec no chance to retreat, no time to regain his senses. He was a man consumed with rage and bloodlust, and Alec knew his adversary was no longer thinking about visiting months of torture upon his transgenic enemy – for the moment Ames White far more closely resembled a bear protecting her cub than the coolly detached uber-human he'd always claimed to be. In desperation, Alec launched a kick at White's knee, not bothering to stop and thank his lucky stars when the strike connected and White staggered. Alec darted to his left, leading with his crippled shoulder as he searched for some room to move. Feeling was quickly returning in his right arm, and he shot a quick jab into White's throat as he danced past him. The Familiar dropped his chair leg and collapsed to one knee, gasping for breath; but when Alec bent down to scoop up the Familiar's lost weapon, he carelessly opened himself up to another attack. He realized too late that White's collapse had been a ploy, that he had hit the floor not because he had been hurt, but because he was picking up a new weapon to replace the chair leg. The transgenic only fully appreciated how thoroughly he'd been duped when White slid Alec's lost butterfly knife into his belly, the metal blade scraping the bottom of his rib cage as blood began to flow freely from the gaping wound._

_Alec staggered back and gazed into the crazed eyes of his would-be executioner. White took a half-step backward, moving closer to Ray as Alec lurched in the opposite direction, wondering if White would try to stop him if he made a run for it._

_"Dad?" Ray called out, his eyes coming into focus as he sat up on the bed. Ames began to shuffle toward his son, but his gaze remained riveted on his adversary._

_"You're all right now," White said confidently. "Stay there. Just let me take care of this."_

Just a quick peek,_ Alec mentally pleaded, hoping he could somehow will Ames to steal a glance toward his son. _A fraction of a second, that's all I need. And I need it soon,_ he realized as his vision started to grow cloudy. He began to lean toward his left, toward the doorway and the PPK he had hidden on the shelf next to it, concealed behind a jar of sulfuric acid._

_White unexpectedly gave him what he wanted. He didn't even move his head – he simply looked out the corner of his eye – but that was all Alec needed. He spun to his left, grabbing the jar of sulfuric acid with his right hand as he whirled, and launched it in White's direction as he came back around. He wasn't sure whether the scream that escaped his lips was in his head or out loud, but it was the only sign of his shock and instant regret as the jar left his grasp. In the fraction of a second Alec had his back turned and grabbed the jar, Ray had thrown himself into his father's embrace._

_White's eyes were vacant as he appeared overcome by the elation of having his son back in his arms. He never saw the acid Alec had intended for Ames' chest – the jar that now hurtled unchecked at the side of Ray's face. The container shattered on impact, and the boy screamed in agony as shards of glass tore at his skin. White looked at his son in shock, and then turned his attention back to Alec. The transgenic fumbled for the pistol and got it into his grasp as Ray's cries became horrifying squeals of agony, an otherworldly shriek that Alec would forever hear echoing in the still night air every time he dared attempt to sleep. The industrial-strength acid consumed Ray's skin; the sizzle of disintegrating flesh and bone provided a soundtrack for the bloody carnage that Alec later found required at least a fifth of Beam to banish from his mind._

_Ray convulsed violently, lashing at his face, oblivious to the fact that he was only succeeding in getting acid on his hands, exposing them to the same fate as his head. White joined in his son's panicked, futile effort, also indifferent to the burns he was receiving. Alec backed away, out into the hallway and away down to the service elevator on the north side of his warehouse. He rode up to the roof and then sent the elevator back down to the ground, hoping that if White pursued, he would be thrown off-track. Once he'd achieved at least momentary safety, he allowed himself to think about the horror he had inflicted on an innocent boy. _He's gonna die, _Alec realized. _Dumb kid didn't stay put like his dad told him to._ The pain of drawing in his next breath alerted him to another fact – Ray might not be the only one who wouldn't see the end of the day._

I need help, _Alec realized, his bloody hand dipping into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. He was halfway finished dialing Max's number when a new thought occurred to him. _And what, exactly, am I supposed to tell her? No way can I admit to what just happened because of me. She's let a lot of things I've done slide, but not even the great and compassionate Max would be able to forgive this. _He cleared the number, trying to think of someone else he could call for help, when the phone began to ring._

_Once. Twice. A glance at the incoming number showed the last thing he wanted to see – Max was calling. He wanted to let her call go into his voicemail, but something in his mind made him hit the button to answer the call. "Yeah?" he asked, doing his best to keep from wheezing, gasping, or in any way giving the slightest indication that he was seriously wounded._

_"Alec, where you been?" she asked. "I've been trying to get in touch with you."_

_"You have?"_

_"Haven't you checked your voicemail?"_

_"Not recently. Some Sector Cops caught sight of me while I was getting supplies, and I've been laying low in an abandoned apartment for the past sixteen hours," he lied. "I'll be back soon, though."_

_"Oh my God, you don't know," Max gasped. Her words put Alec on edge – he'd missed something big. _But there isn't the usual misery and frustration in her voice,_ he noticed for the first time._

_"Know what?"_

_"It happened about ten hours ago," Max explained. "Joshua got a call from Sandeman. He contacted us, Alec! He promised to get us out of here, to out his people; and about two hours ago the information was leaked. The news has been running it for about an hour now, nonstop. Governors, senators, presidents, prime ministers, generals around the globe… They've all been revealed, and people see what's going on. I have a press conference in, like, forty-five minutes."_

_"A press conference?" Alec asked dumbfoundedly._

_"The president himself called and offered us clemency," Max explained. "It turned out his chief of staff was a Familiar, and now he's scared shitless. Sandeman let it be known that he created us to oppose the Familiars, to take the fight to them and preserve humanity. The president offered us freedom and full citizenship as long as we fulfill Sandeman's plans."_

_"We're going to war," Alec realized._

_"But we're free now," Max answered, naively unaware of the price her people were about to pay for their freedom. _She shouldn't have made the deal,_ he raged silently, keeping his concerns to himself. _I never would have let her do that if I were there. She must have been in one of her moods… she must have thought there was no other way, so she made a deal with the devil.

_"Max…"_

_"I want you there with me when I go on TV," she said impatiently._

_"I don't know if I'll be able to make it," Alec muttered, risking a look at the bloody wound in his gut._

_"You have to," Max insisted. "You helped get me through all this. I want you there to share the victory with me."_

_"I'll do my best," Alec promised, knowing even as he said the words that he wouldn't be there with her._ I have to go somewhere to lick my wounds, before White finds some of his cronies and comes back looking to finish me.

_"Great," Max said excitedly. "Just come back to T.C. We're doing the announcement right outside the front gate. The president will be there by video."_

_"I'll do my best," Alec repeated miserably._ What the hell have I done?_ he asked himself._ I should have been there. With Logan having to leave because of all the biohazards in Terminal City, I was the only one with real world experience who could have given her guidance. Instead I come out here and torture her nemesis… then let him escape while she's making the biggest political blunder since Neville Chamberlain labeled Hitler a reasonable man and declared there'd be peace in his time. I can't even imagine how I could have fucked this up any more than I did.

_To be continued……………………………………_


	9. Putting One's Problems in the Past

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Putting One's Problems in the Past**

_Only two reasons someone goes to the trouble of taking out the Old Man and following the trail to me,_ Alec decided, once again reviewing the information he knew, re-checking his conclusions to make certain he had not overlooked anything crucial. _Either someone is incredibly pissed off about a job I did and he – or she – is now looking for payback, or else someone contracted for the Old Man's services and didn't trust our discretion in keeping everything quiet. Whichever one it is, the motive for the person's – or maybe people's – actions doesn't really give me any clue as to who they may be. Revenge. Secrecy. Who in this world _wouldn't_ be given to being motivated by one of those? I don't need to look any farther than a mirror to find at least one person._

Alec paced into the kitchen, frustration rolling off of him as he hoped that getting himself moving might help his brain make some kind of leap of logic. Sadly, it didn't happen. _All right, I still need a place to start,_ Alec told himself as he poured some orange juice. He almost dumped it out after the first sip, convinced that it had gone bad before its sell-by date, but then he realized that the reason it tasted wrong was because it had been years since he'd had orange juice without vodka in it. _It tastes so… orangey. I'd even go so far as to say it tastes better._ He took a deep breath and forced a quick image of Keri's body to flash through his mind – that was all he needed to get back on the topic.

_I'm right back where I was two weeks ago,_ he groused silently, remembering the confusion that had discouraged him after finding the Old Man's damaged home. _The obvious starting place is with my most recent hits. That's Hahneman and Wagner._ Beginning with the most recent hit, Alec opened the first of two dossiers he had assembled containing information that had not been shared with him before doing the jobs. He'd already memorized everything written inside the folders, but he found himself reading over them again anyway, as he knew an ordinary would, hoping that maybe the inexplicable jolts of inspiration ordinaries always seemed to have would maybe strike him for once.

_Hahneman didn't have any real allies that I've been able to find,_ Alec mused. _His primary business was the time-honored vocation of gunrunning, though he also appeared to have traded in maritime craft, aircraft, and everyone's favorite – drug smuggling._ Alec had initially been surprised to learn that Hahneman was an arms dealer, since he'd never heard of him. He thought that unusual for someone in his line of work. A quick review of the customer list Alec had been able to extrapolate offered a plausible explanation – most of Hahneman's business was high-volume deals that went through cartels. _Still, it's strange that I never even **heard** of him._

_Cartels are strong, but they generally don't get involved personally,_ he reasoned, another memory of Keri's mutilated body redoubling his focus on his investigation_. I can't imagine any of them going to the trouble of avenging someone like Hahneman. There'd always be someone else to supply their merchandise, and as long as they had a supply of what they need, I doubt they'd make waves._ Then another thought occurred to the transgenic.

_The fact that he dealt with cartels – mainly the Russians, Colombians, Italians, and the Yakuza – indicates that he could very easily have made powerful enemies. I guess it's possible that one of his deals went bad; but cartels all have in-house specialists to take care of their problems. None of them would need to go to the Old Man and hire me._ Without even being aware of what he was doing, Alec hurled his empty glass across the kitchen, smashing it into a thousand jagged fragments. _There has to be a way to figure out who did this. I won't let this stand. Not ever._ He walked over to his computer, running a search on five names he thought might have some potential as leads. A surprising possibility arose sooner than he expected.

Two names – Jeremy Fritz and Henry Jackson – came up with recent news articles. Both men had died violently within the past month. _Only a few days before the Old Man died. Okay, new scenario – those two guys hire the Old Man to have Hahneman killed, but then someone gets pissed off. Maybe Hahneman had something they need… probably just owes them money. Either way, they want blood because losing Hahneman hurts them somehow. Or maybe it **is** as simple as revenge. Whatever it is, they go to some of Hahneman's enemies and find out these guys hired the Old Man, so they go there next. The Old Man gives me up, and these guys come to my place and kill Keri while I'm out._ He pondered the scenario for several minutes, trying to find any flaws in his conclusion.

Part of his mind called for reason, insisting that he take a step back and test other likely scenarios. But Alec didn't listen to that voice anymore. He wanted vengeance, and that meant taking action, not sitting around playing 'what if.' He liked his possible scenario; it had the dual attraction of both making sense and giving him a route for immediate action.

_Of course, if that's the way it played out, they may have killed the Old Man before finding out that it was a man who killed Hahneman. They may have figured Keri was the only one who did the job. The Old Man didn't know I subcontracted part of the hit to an apprentice, so whoever it is may not know that I'm out here, tracking them down to get some payback of my own._ Alec found that conclusion oddly comforting as he realized for the first time that there might not be someone hunting him even as he hunted them. Again he bypassed the prudent strategy of considering other possibilities – he'd found a scenario that made sense, and he was sticking with it. _Whoever it is may not know about me… they may never see me coming until I skin them alive._

He shook off his glee and re-focused. _Money makes the world go 'round, so I'll start with someone who may have had a business grudge._ Alec spent several hours on the computer, running standard searches and hacking into corporate systems until he found something that made his heart skip a beat. Hahneman had been in the U.S. Delta Force, and upon his discharge he went into personal security. His first job out of the military had been with Paragon Security, and his second assignment had been protecting Robert Berrisford.

_What the hell?_ Alec delved more deeply into that unexpected link, finally cracking into Paragon's personnel records to find out when, and for how long, Hahneman had worked for Berrisford. He couldn't say he was surprised when he discovered that Hahneman's security company had reassigned him only three days before the Berrisfords had welcomed a new piano teacher into their home. _Half-done,_ his mind taunted, immediately causing Alec to direct his gaze at the bottle of single-malt scotch he saved for special occasions. _Half-done, half-done, half-done…_

"Just became a special occasion," he grumbled, feeling a sudden need to chase thoughts of Rachel from his mind. _I'll just drink enough to numb the pain a bit, so that I'll be able to think clearly._ He'd filled a glass with Scotch before he even knew what he was doing, then flung it to join the orange juice glass in oblivion. _No drinking, asshole,_ he cursed himself. _No happiness, not even numbness, until I've had my fill of blood._

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_In addition to causing an itchy, burning sensation in his nose and throat, the thin, noxious mist that hung over the abandoned plant created an overpowering stench of chemicals that made Alec's sense of smell useless in tracking his prey. He was certain that had been White's point in selecting the defunct PVC manufacturing plant along the banks of the Mississippi River. Here in Louisiana's Cancer Alley, The Pulse had meant a new chance at life. Most local residents were accustomed to poverty, so the loss of jobs when the local plants had closed was nothing apocalyptic. Indeed, on the flip side, a reduction of several million gallons of toxic waste being pumped into the river on a daily basis was an unexpected boon that made most welcome the trade of income for health. The residents of Cancer Alley were far from unique in their crippling poverty, but now, like most Americans, they could dream of the day their children reached adulthood, rather than dread the day their children contracted leukemia or some other, more deadly form of cancer._

_In a way, Cancer Alley was a symbol of endings and new beginnings, and that's what made Alec decide this was the perfect place to face Ames White. _It wasn't a coincidence that he used this address in his phony account,_ Alec decided, recalling the business address he found when he broke into Whitney Bank's main offices and searched the bank records for Charles Blanco._ One way or another, I'll never have to look at Ames White after tonight. With him gone, maybe I can finally start my real life.

_He walked through the gate – now no more than remnants of some rusted scrap, the majority of which had been scavenged by people nearby who'd needed the abandoned materials in order to help make ends meet. Or maybe just to help patch a hole in a roof or a wall._

_"You took longer than I expected," White commented derisively as he walked out from behind a long-abandoned truck trailer. He appeared to be unarmed, but Alec wasn't going to take any chances. He took a half-step back, falling into a fighting stance and using the movement to conceal the fact that his right hand was now inches away from his concealed PPK. "I left a fairly obvious trail. I suppose my impression of you was correct – you oozed out of the shallow end of Manticore's gene pool."_

_"We gonna do this or not?" Alec asked dismissively, trying to sound as nonchalant as one could while facing a superhuman who was intent on tearing him to pieces._

_"I expected you to come in shooting the place up," White added. "You surprise me."_

_"I'm not here to shoot ya," Alec said smoothly. "Putting a bullet in you just doesn't --"_

_"Give the proper satisfaction," White interrupted. "I know the feeling. You tortured me. You tortured Ray. And in the end, you killed my son rather than let me escape with him."_

_"That's not how it happened…"_

_"You think I care?" White countered, his voice shrill, almost mad. "There is no justice for what you did. Not really. I'm just here for satisfaction."_

_Alec didn't respond. He simply lunged at Ames; the Familiar met him head on, each man's limbs accelerating to blurs as they punched, kicked, parried, and countered. Alec realized immediately that White had recovered fully from his ordeal during the intervening five years he had laid low, and that he was every bit as strong as he'd ever been. _And that's stronger than I'll ever be,_ Alec admitted to himself as he sidestepped a punch that splintered a doorframe as the transgenic moved inside the loading dock. _At least I'm still quicker... and I still have military training that his need to spend time fitting into society didn't permit him.

_Ames did not even think about allowing his opponent any quarter, pressing the attack with a ferocity that astonished Alec. Within just a few minutes, the transgenic was panting in an effort just to catch his breath, while White seemed like he was only getting started. Every counter Alec came up with was brushed aside, the Familiar being the proverbial exception that proved the rule about never allowing one's emotions to take over. His energy seemed limitless, his rage all-consuming._

_"You've been working out," Alec grunted as White managed to connect with a glancing blow to Alec's side. _I think that probably cracked a rib,_ he decided, hoping that his attempt at banter might help distract his opponent from his deadly focus. He had no such luck. White's face had darkened into an expression that Alec had seen only once before – on Joshua's face when he threw himself at an impossible number of Familiars. _He knew he was going to die, and his only goal was to take as many of them with him as he could,_ Alec remembered, fighting the distraction emotions could cause him even as White fed off his own feelings. _Bastard probably hasn't thought about his life after this moment – this is all he's thought about since Ray died. Win or lose, live or die, he has no concerns for anything in his life after this moment. I can't win this fight…__

_The realization hit him like a ton of bricks as he recalled droll lessons at Manticore, most of them steeped in the simple lessons of Sun Tzu as they applied to modern warfare. Alec could almost hear Lydecker's voice extolling them to avoid at all cost battle with fanatics and those whose backs were against a wall. In either case, the opponent had accepted death and any conflict – whether won or lost – would end up being costly. One look into White's frenzied eyes told Alec all he needed to know._

_A new sense of urgency welled up within the transgenic. _I need to get a little room to breathe. I need to back him off just a little…_ He threw everything he had at his foe, lashing out with punches and kicks in a display of wildness that matched White's. Alec's arms quickly began to ache, his legs grew leaden. But he had accomplished his goal – White had backed off just a bit, staying more at the edge of Alec's reach, some voice of reason deep within the Familiar's mind arguing for restraint, pointing out that Alec was tiring quickly, that the fight was almost over. _And it _is_ almost over,_ Alec knew._

_He willed himself to keep moving, to throw just one more full-strength kick. As his body rotated with the effort, he slipped his right hand to the small of his back, bringing his PPK to bear and emptying the clip into White's chest in a sudden, anti-climactic end to their deadly clash. The Familiar staggered as Alec backed away, keeping his guard up even as he holstered his weapon._

_Special Agent Ames White, the scourge of Alec's life, was looking dumbfoundedly at the blood that flowed freely from his wounds. He looked back up at Alec, the inferno in his eyes dying away behind an increasingly frosted, glassy surface._

I killed him,_ Alec realized, suddenly feeling the anger and regret at his failure. _The bastard doesn't deserve a quick, merciful death. He deserves to suffer for what he did to Max. He got off cheap._ The desperation that had led him to bring a quick resolution to the confrontation was fading quickly as Alec increasingly thrilled at the pain and misery that rose on White's face. He didn't wonder at how Max would have been sickened at his joy in watching life slip from White's body. He simply lived in the moment, enjoying what he honestly felt might have been the most satisfying experience of his life. It was when he was losing himself in bliss that White struck._

_The Familiar had just fallen to one knee when Alec noticed something odd. White's face suddenly became taut, his eyes refocused. By the time Alec realized that White falling to a knee was a ploy to get into a position from which he could spring, it was too late. Blood washed over Alec's face as White tackled him to the ground, his hands locked in a vise-grip that defied death… at least until he had enjoyed his revenge._

_Alec was exhausted and pinned, unable to breathe and knowing that he could still die at White's hands. The feeling was euphoric. "Perfect," he gasped as he wrapped his own hands around White's throat. He managed to roll over onto his right side, knocking the Familiar from on top of him, but that was all. He couldn't shake the human bulldog that was strangling him, and so he reveled in the knowledge that he still might be able to kill White with his own bare hands, even if it cost him his life, as well._

_Alec's head began to pound, his arms grew weak, but he refused to submit as long as White's eyes were looking back at him. _I'm not letting go until those eyes are empty._ His chest heaved and convulsed, straining for air that wouldn't come, and finally everything went black._

_The room slowly grew brighter as Alec returned to consciousness, awaking to find his grip still locked around White's throat. The Familiar was dead, and though Alec had no way of knowing whether he had died of blood loss or strangulation, he convinced himself that it was his hands, and not his PPK's bullets, that had ended White. _He out-lasted me, he actually made me pass out from lack of oxygen, but my grip didn't ease up in the least. Even unconscious, I tore his life from him.

_Alec pulled White's hand from his neck and pulled himself off the floor, looking down on the unimpressive corpse lying at his feet, marveling at how hard it was to believe that one man had caused so much pain. _But never again,_ Alec told himself as he turned his back and walked away. _Son of a bitch will never hurt anyone else again.

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"It occurs to me that this may be the ideal time for you to start talking," Alec grumbled, his face set in an angry, impatient expression that he knew would only increase the anxiety in the man standing at the business end of Alec's Beretta.

"I don't know who the fuck you are, but if you don't get your ass outta here, you're a deadman."

"So says the man with a bullet in his knee," Alec muttered. The other man gave him a puzzled look and then collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony. As Alec had expected, the Beretta had attracted so much undivided attention that the other man had never seen Alec draw the PPK with his left hand. It wasn't until Alec shot him that the man devoted attention to Alec's smaller sidearm. "Now that you understand I'm not just some random shmuck with a gun, perhaps you'll consider telling me what I want to know so you can get to a hospital."

Alec succeeded in concealing his anxiety at the fact that this man – Sheldon Barlucci – was the only accessible link he had found to Hahneman's business dealings. International criminal cartels were notoriously reluctant to share information with vigilante loners, and Alec knew better than to test his luck with such organized mobsters. Sheldon Barlucci, however, was a weaponsmith who had bounced from one morally ambiguous job to the next after the Pulse left him unemployed. His name popped up in three separate searches of Hahneman's finances, and as a free agent with no official protection from Seattle's criminal elements, he was the best source of information Alec could easily access.

"Okay, okay," Sheldon spat through gritted teeth, obviously fighting a losing battle against the pain in his leg. "You wanna know 'bout Hahneman, right? About who does business with him?"

"Correct."

"Lotsa people, man. Lots. He's one of the best suppliers in Seattle."

"How come I never heard of him?" Alec asked, voicing the question that had puzzled him the first time he had found out about Hahneman's business activities. "I've lived here for over ten years, and I've spent a good deal of the time in various vocations that involve Hahneman's wares. I've never done business with him, and I don't think I know anyone who has."

"Like I care." Sheldon started to look defiant, but a swift kick to his wounded knee changed his attitude in a heartbeat. Alec waited several minutes for his less than cooperative informant to collect himself and focus on the conversation.

"Please limit your comments to responses to my questions," Alec requested. "That way we can get this over with more quickly, and I won't have to worry about doing anything that's painful enough to make you pass out. I'm short on time, and I don't want to have to deal with first aid."

"We all have our problems," Sheldon muttered. Alec considered shooting the other knee, but decided against it; he was there for business, not pleasure.

"Back to Hahneman – I was saying that I've never heard of him. I'd like to know why that might be."

"Deals mostly with large buyers. You've probably bought some of his stuff through a middleman. He gets the hard to find military stuff, leaves the crap stuff like old TEC-9's for the street dirt. Unless you've bought in bulk or you wanted some unique weapons, you'd never have to deal with him. But like I said, the people you buy from probably have… and their type are well-known for keeping their mouths shut when there's someone out there sellin' for less than they do."

"Fine," Alec cut him off, deciding that for the time being he didn't need that information. He got back on track quickly. "So tell me this – who'd want to kill Hahneman?"

"Kill him? Dunno." Alec feigned another kick at Sheldon's knee, and got the extra information he wanted. "Fine, I guess there're a couple of people, but no one who'd take the risk. Most likely would be the Russians, maybe Ivanov, but they do business with Hahneman and there's no reason to stop. Everyone's happily making money."

"Not anymore," Alec pointed out. "At least Hahneman isn't."

"What? Someone took him out?"

"Over a month ago," Alec replied, making certain his body language never implied his involvement.

"Look, you may be a real tough guy, but you're about as smart as a salad bar," Sheldon responded with a shit-eating grin.

"Huh?"

"A month ago my ass," the weaponsmith answered. "I picked up some Uzis from him just three days ago. Whoever told you he's dead is giving you a line of shit."

"I have it on good authority."

"Then maybe he's the Second Coming or something, because he's walking around town like everything's copasetic."

"He's alive?"

"Alive as you and me."

"Well, me anyway," Alec commented under his breath as he emptied the clip of his Beretta, burying six bursts of 9mm rounds into Sheldon Barlucci's chest. _No way Hahneman can still be alive, not after what I did to him… though that would certainly answer the question of who'd be pissed off enough to go through Keri and the Old Man to get to me. Fine, if he's alive, I'll kill him again. If it's just some imposter pretending to be Hahneman, and taking out the assassins who are the only ones who know Hahneman is dead, then I'll kill him, too._

_To be continued…………………………………… _


	10. Achieving Closure

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Author's Note:** The first scene of this chapter gave me fits, due primarily to the fact that I would write a bit, decide I wasn't in the right mood to write it properly, and then quit. This happened three or four times, and the result was a disjointed, crappy scene. So major thanks to **Moonbeam**, whose fresh perspective and talented eye helped me make the scene into something readable.

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**Achieving Closure**

It wasn't until Alec chugged his first pint of Bud – _Crap American swill, but you can count on a company that weathered the Great Depression to also muddle through The Pulse_, Alec decided – that he felt it all coming back. _New Orleans. There's just no other city like it anywhere in the world._ He had only been in the Crescent City once, on a sultry night in a bar not unlike the one he was in now. _It was Abita Purple Haze that night,_ he remembered, surprised at how easily he recalled trivial facts like what beer he'd drank so many years before. Given the circumstances, though, he thought it fitting that his memory leaped back to New Orleans.

Alec took a look around and smiled. He'd heard many things about Seattle Jack's. He'd been told it was as rough as waterfront bars got, that it was the kind of place only the bravest and most dangerous men would drink. Such statements made him smile with amusement. _None of these guys would last five minutes in some of the bars in the French Quarter. Especially that one Syl took me to…_ His memories of the night he had found Ames White quickly skimmed past the actual encounter and proceeded to his alcohol-fueled celebration afterward, when he and Syl drank until sunrise at a dive called The Gold Mine. He'd heard that before the Pulse it had been a popular bar with the college crowd. But not anymore.

The calendar might claim that it was well into the 21st century, but in New Orleans – specifically, the French Quarter – time had returned to a simpler era, when pirates and other assorted cutthroats ran amuck in riverfront taverns that generally considered it a slow night until someone was stabbed to death with a broken beer bottle. Prostitutes openly plied their trade while pickpockets were predictably more discreet; the token policeman who walked through the door often enjoyed several drinks and left with his pockets significantly heavier than when he entered; and anything – be it animal, mineral, vegetable, or some combination of the three – could be bought and sold as easily as most Americans bought a cup of coffee.

_Too bad Syl doesn't live there anymore,_ Alec lamented. _I could have made a tradition of going to the Quarter after I hunt down and murder those who wrong me._ The last he'd heard, Syl had managed to settle down in Australia, just outside Perth. _Another crazy, fun town…_

Alec started thinking about the only other surviving transgenics – six of the original escapees, and him. _Of all the ones who escaped Manticore when Max took out Gillette, only I survived the war. As advanced as the X7s were, they were so spooked by being in the real world, outside of the familiarity of the military, that they never really got their act together. The X8s were too young. The X6s had a chance until the Familiars started specifically targeting them, knowing they were the only capable replacement officers for fallen X5s. The freaks… well, they were on borrowed time as soon as they left Manticore. Lydecker was always right – the X5s were where the program hit its high-water mark. We were more adaptable than any of the others, we were the only ones independent enough to plan an escape. We were the only ones stupid enough to go back and take down the whole project._ He drained his beer, fighting off a wave of frustration. _Well, Max was all those things, anyway. Zack, too, once he returned to the fold. I was just a schmack who tagged along, enjoying the benefits that they won for the rest of us. She taught me how to live, how to be something other than what Manticore always tried to get me to be. And without her, I woulda been dead long ago. Wouldn't have needed the Familiars to do it, either. I just wasn't ready for the real world… none of us were. It's no coincidence that other than me, only the original escapees – the ones who had a decade to adapt before the world found out about them – are still lurking about._

The bartender set another beer in front of Alec, and the transgenic stared at it for a moment. "Did I order another beer?" he asked, genuinely confused as to if – and when – he'd decided to have a second drink.

"Nope," the bartender responded, "but the look on your face says you need it. Woman trouble, huh?"

"Why should I be different than any of the other guys here?" Alec answered with a forced grin. The bartender gave a thin smile back and walked down to the other end of the bar, promptly refilling the beer of another man drowning his own female-induced misery.

_She did so much for me – for all of us – and never asked for anything in return,_ Alec remembered. _Never asked, though I would have given her anything. Hell, I wanted to give her **everything**._ He sighed heavily and drained half his beer, hoping to avoid that line of thought; it was too late. _She had to have known how I felt about her, but she never opened the door to anything between us. Maybe it was just because I reminded her of Ben. Maybe she was waiting for me to make an obvious move, and I was always too afraid. Maybe – probably – she was just so genuinely interested in Logan that I never stood a chance of being anything more than a friend, the older brother she needed in her life after Zack died, then came back as a cyborg only to go away again, then return just long enough to turn the tide of battle before getting his head blown **completely** off his shoulders._

_Nope, when it came to affection, all she ever needed was Logan. She could have had anyone in the world, but she chose him. I'll never understand why…_ Alec's mind began to wander, raising questions and doubts he thought he'd put away forever when Max had died. _Not just an ordinary, but a crippled ordinary. If I live to be a thousand, I'll never understand how in God's name I never seemed to measure up._

From the recesses of his mind came memories of a long-ago conversation with Asha, when she had tried to explain to him what it was about Logan that kept Max interested. _He never gave up believing she was still alive after the assault on Manticore. That took faith, commitment, and a kind of dedication that I've just never shown… to say nothing about ever having felt. To be honest, I would never have waited around like he did; I would have moved on, and I would have been wrong. Again._

"Fuck it," he grumbled, discarding his faux confusion as easily as he would discard an unwanted jacket. "I know _exactly_ why I didn't measure up." He had never really allowed himself to dwell upon Max's lack of affection for him, always convincing himself that to do so would reduce him to some poor bastard who spent his life wallowing in misery over what could have been. _Like that guy down at the other end of the bar,_ Alec decided. _The one the bartender just poured another beer._ He hated his subconscious as soon as it realized where his train of thought had brought him. _The bartender just poured **me** another beer._ Try as he might, the transgenic couldn't help but wonder whether the guy at the other end of the bar had just been looking at him, trying to convince himself he wasn't as screwed up over a woman as that poor bastard sitting on Alec's barstool.

_Truth is, I was always a bit of a child,_ Alec admitted to himself. _Logan spent his time helping people, putting himself on the line to make the world a better place. I spent my time figuring out my next scam and counting on my friends to bail me out when things went wrong… like they always did. Logan gave his legs as a price for his idealism, while I gave the lives of my friends. But never **my** life. I always made sure I was one step ahead of anything bad, no matter what happened to those around me. Sure, I was faster, stronger, smarter, and in my humble opinion far better looking than Logan, but when people shot at Max because of something Logan did, there was always a damn good reason. When people shot at her because of something I did, it was usually because I whelched on a debt. It wasn't just that I couldn't be counted on, it was that virtually every time she heard my voice it was because she had to do something absolutely crazy to yank my fat outta the fire. How could somebody even be friends with a person like that, no less form any kind of romantic relationship? I was a blight on her existence, and I don't think becoming a hired gun has done anything to improve my stock with any future acquaintances._

_Fact is, as much fun as I was always having, if someone had ever caused me as much trouble as I caused Max, I would have shot him. I certainly wouldn't have considered that person a friend. It's absolutely insane how much inconvenience, irritation, and pain I caused Max. And I never changed…_

He sighed heavily, puzzled by the sudden disgust he felt rising within him. _I really haven't come far at all in the past five years,_ he admitted painfully. _Five years later, and here I am in another dive bar, planning to avenge myself on another enemy who hurt me because I made the same mistake I made back then. I left another job half-done._ "Max would kick my ass if she was alive to see what I've made of myself," he grumbled. Then he took a moment to contemplate what he'd said.

"Oh crap," he mumbled miserably, coming to an exceedingly uncomfortable epiphany. _I've been miserable all these years because my mistake got Max killed; but given what she'd been doing, leading us in a war against the Familiars, she had to have known that death was a constant threat. What really would have pissed her off is seeing what I've made of the chance she gave her life to buy for me. But she did even more than that…_

"Need to keep going?" the bartender asked as he walked back up to Alec, wrapping his thick fingers around the base of the pint glass.

"Yeah," Alec muttered, finding it easy to put off his date – and his recently avowed sobriety – one more night. _Hahneman's not going anywhere. At least not yet. He's gotta know I'm looking for him even as he's looking for me. He wants to be found, just like I do. But I'm not gonna go and get him 'til my head clears. I'd hate to accidentally kill him before I get to have my fun.___

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Alec slowed his Mustang to a crawl, gazing at the warehouse where he knew Hahneman was waiting for him. Two weeks after his interrogation of Sheldon Barlucci – two weeks of following money trails and dead bodies – Alec was finally certain he had pinned down Hahneman's location. Long hours of boring research and stakeouts had finally paid off.

_Sometimes irony can be pretty ironic,_ Alec thought grimly, borrowing a quote from one of his favorite guilty pleasure movies. He had been in this warehouse once before – the first time he'd met with Sergei Ivanov. _Back here, where my career as a hitman started, to finish my last job in that vocation._

_Well, his roof, his rules,_ Alec thought anxiously, surprised that he was so unnerved by the situation. He took a deep breath and tried to settle himself. _There's no reason to be so damn uptight. I'm an X5, a transgenic super-soldier with a killer education and years of experience fighting a superhuman cult hell-bent on your destruction. Why on earth should I be so wound up right now?_

He checked his weapons – the PPK, his two Berettas, and one of the MP-5's – then stepped warily from the vehicle, leaving it parked about a quarter of a mile away. He slipped the pistols into their holsters and grabbed the MP-5 in his hand. _Got enough weapons?_ he asked himself sarcastically. Deciding he was better armed for an assault on Omaha beach than for taking on a single target and perhaps a handful of guards, Alec tossed the MP-5 back on the driver's seat. He was about to add the PPK, too, when he decided at the last moment to keep that with him. Rather than place the small weapon back in its holster in the small of his back, Alec dropped it into the large pocket on his thigh. His beloved old Manticore-issue survival knife took the PPK's normal spot at his back.

_That's a little more reasonable,_ Alec decided, vastly preferring the thought of slowly filleting his target rather than ending the encounter quickly with a few bullets. _I've done that before, and this time I'm not missing my chance to work over the man who hurt me._ Knowing he was likely already under surveillance, he strode confidently toward the warehouse, his eyes and ears attuned to his surroundings, searching for the slightest indication that there was anyone else around. He reached the door without detecting anything and walked right in, not needing to bother with picking a lock – the door was propped open, as if he was expected. _Which I no doubt am,_ Alec knew.

"Candy-gram for Mongo," he muttered, trying to inject a bit of levity into the steely chill that had descended over him, erasing almost all feeling, almost making him miss the anxiety he had felt moments earlier. Alec drew his two Berettas and put his back to the wall, sidestepping slowly around the perimeter of the building, wondering more every second why nothing had happened yet.

Ending his curiosity, two holes were punched in the steel wall on either side of him. Alec fell to a crouch, knowing that someone had just fired two shots with a very high-powered sniper rifle. _And whoever it was wanted to miss. No way two shots come that close without hitting me unless that was the guy's intent. I'm just not that lucky…_

"Drop the pistols," a callous, empty voice called out from an unseen spot in the rafters. Alec hesitated, weighing the merits of trying a blind shot at a man who probably had his head in the crosshairs of his scope. "I'd prefer not to shoot you, but I will if I have to," the voice added.

Alec reluctantly did as he was told. "Happy?"

"Walk to the middle of the warehouse," the voice – he'd concluded it couldn't be anyone other than Hahneman, though he sounded a little different than he had last time – commanded. Again Alec complied, though he stole several glances back at his discarded Berettas, gauging with every step he took what his chances would be of darting back and bringing the weapons to bear on the asshole that was pissing him off from above.

_If I keep going where he wants me to go, I'll be completely at his mercy,_ Alec decided. _Although, if I make a run for it, he might shoot me before I finish my first step. Then again, if I make it to a second or third step, I'll probably be moving too fast for him to have a chance of hitting me._ Deciding almost on a whim that he'd had enough, Alec turned and made a run for his Berettas. No gunfire erupted, but when he was in the middle of his fourth stride, he was slammed to the concrete floor by what felt like a piano falling on him.

Alec managed to roll to his right even as he struggled to decide whether he had some broken ribs or had just had the wind knocked out of him. As he rolled, Hahneman sprang to his feet, revealing that it had been him that had landed on Alec. _You've gotta be kidding,_ Alec thought with amazement, figuring that Hahneman had likely been on a catwalk that was twenty-five feet up. _That fall shoulda crippled the bastard. Bulletproof is one thing, but indestructible is something else entirely. It's not quite fair._

Before Alec could analyze the situation any more, Hahneman was lunging at him, a survival knife of his own slashing at Alec's face. The transgenic dodged, though barely, and shook off the rest of the cobwebs. _Think I probably cracked one rib,_ he decided, feeling a throbbing, stabbing pain in his side that was only growing worse as Alec drew his knife and started to test his opponent's defenses.

Hahneman seemed completely content to hold Alec at arm's length, letting him try to find an opening. "Bet you never expected to see me again," he commented mockingly. "Your woman was surprised, I can tell you that much." And just like that, both the anxiety and the cold chill vanished as an inferno of rage ignited in Alec's heart; caution was abandoned as the transgenic threw himself at his foe, his measured cuts becoming wide, sweeping arcs that opened him up to counter-attack. Hahneman took full advantage, slicing lightly into Alec's right thigh before slashing his right forearm on the back-swing.

_Slow down, be careful,_ a voice warned in Alec's mind. He disregarded it, deciding instead to let himself go. _I'm a fucking transgenic – no way this clown keeps up with me._ He was suddenly reminded of Ames White, of how formidable the Familiar had been when he'd abandoned all semblance of self-control and simply reveled in rage. Alec now did the same, immediately discarding his earlier plan to torture Hahneman for months.

Alec was a whirlwind of death, but his frenzied mind failed to register a crucial detail – Hahneman was matching him step for step. Within seconds the transgenic was bleeding freely from several wounds, none of them serious on its own but the combination of them starting to slow him a step. He tried to exploit an opening he thought he saw on Hahneman's left only to get kicked in the face and cut again on his forearm. This time the wound was deeper, and he dropped his knife. Only then did he back away to re-evaluate his foe.

_What the hell?_ he wondered silently, falling into a defensive stance and trying his best to focus on the task at hand and not on his growing concerns. _A Familiar? That's impossible… even if he were one, I put enough lead in him to kill him. No way a Familiar survives that hit a couple months ago._

"No, I'm not a Familiar," Hahneman taunted, seemingly able to read Alec's mind. Stunned surprise threatened to distract Alec from the task at hand, and he did his best to push his questions from his mind. "I'm just a good old ordinary human being. Well, with a bit of technology thrown in, anyway."

"Cyborg?" Alec guessed, considering and discarding thoughts of South Africa's reds once he realized that Hahneman had apparently been in Seattle for quite some time. Hahneman smirked as he fell back into a fighting stance and approached his unarmed opponent slowly. _If he's a cyborg, then the cybernetics he's got goin' are beyond anything I've ever even heard of. That's gotta be fully integrated wetware… that's supposed to be years away from complete development. Who the hell is he?_ The question was pushed aside as Hahneman lunged again, his blade coming within a fraction of an inch of slicing Alec's nose from his face. The transgenic actually felt the breeze caused by the blade, heard it cut through the air. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly saw an opening – Hahneman obviously hadn't expected Alec to be as quick as he was, and he'd overextended badly. Alec took the momentary opportunity, only to sidestep directly into an unexpected roundhouse kick that Hahneman had thrown in desperation. Rather than fall back and re-assess, Alec pressed on. The opening was still there, right behind the left hook that Hahneman was launching at his opponent's head. Alec shifted his weight again, dodged right, and lunged. He saw the following punch that Hahneman was throwing with his right, but knew it would be of little account. _I'm more than willing to take a hit to the gut if it lets me get close enough. _Both combatants landed their strikes at the same time – Alec to Hahneman's head, Hahneman to Alec's stomach. On both accounts, Alec did poorly.

He felt the knuckles on his right index and middle fingers crumple under the force of the impact as he struck what he could only assume was a titanium jaw. Simultaneously, he felt a burning, tearing pain in his abdomen. He staggered back, blinded by the temporary shock of the two injuries, fending off every one of the blindingly bright spots he saw dancing in front of him. He heard an amused chuckle and struggled just to maintain consciousness. His sight was returning, and the first thing he saw was the gore dripping from Hahneman's right hand. Then he saw the glint of metal – retractable razor blades had been surgically implanted under his fingernails. They didn't look particularly strong, but in close quarters they had provided what Hahneman had wanted – a surprise. Alec didn't look at his own stomach; he didn't have to. His transgenically modified brain chemistry was already producing enough endorphins to dull the pain, but Alec knew he'd taken what might very well be a mortal wound. _Haven't been cut this badly since the day White escaped… and this is even worse than that was. Okay, so I'm dead,_ he thought grimly, surprised at how easy it was to accept. _But I'm not the only one who isn't walkin' out of here._

"That's not quite fair," he commented as glibly as he could, satisfied that he sounded stronger than might have been expected, given the circumstances. "Nice workmanship, though," he added, gesturing toward the razors with his left hand as his right hand, crippled and useless for anything other than holding in his entrails, went to his abdomen.

Hahneman didn't respond to his maimed transgenic opponent; he simply closed in for the kill. Alec gave ground, scanning his surroundings for something – anything – that might help him gain an advantage. The warehouse was all but empty, and only a handful of support columns throughout the structure offered any cover. _Hahneman knew what he was doing when he chose this as the place for our little showdown. I don't see anything that could help._

Alec began to move more quickly, trying to sidestep around Hahneman and back to the far end of the warehouse, where his Berettas were laying on the dirt-coated concrete floor. Not surprisingly, Hahneman was both quicker and apparently well aware of what Alec was thinking. He cut Alec off, forcing him to retreat again, putting more distance between the transgenic and his weapon. _I'm such an asshole,_ Alec suddenly realized, remembering his PPK. _It might not be enough to kill him, not through that body armor, but it might buy me a few seconds if I can at least knock him off-balance._ He backpedaled a little more quickly, trying to put a few extra steps between himself and his opponent. Hahneman seemed happy to let him run, confident that Alec would not be able to escape.

_Now the trick is gonna be getting my left hand into my right hip pocket and bringing the weapon to bear before Hahneman can do something else that's unexpected,_ Alec told himself, working through the awkward maneuver in his head, trying to figure out how to go through the motion as smoothly as possible. Hahneman was now about twenty feet away, and Alec was quickly running out of room to back up.

_Just do it._ He seemed to lurch forward briefly, freezing Hahneman in his tracks as he took a split-second to figure out what the transgenic was up to; by the time the cyborg realized Alec was producing another weapon, it was too late. Alec stumbled toward his right, doing his best to hit full stride even as he felt what he was sure was his small intestine start to slip out the gash in his abdomen. He fired three shots, one to the head and two at Hahneman's left leg. The cyborg's head snapped back and his leg momentarily gave out under him, but he recovered far more quickly than Alec had hoped. Hahneman took three quick steps to his left, forcing Alec out wide around a row of columns running down the middle of the warehouse. Alec took what he could get and started running, hearing Hahneman's uneven gait behind him. _He's hurt,_ Alec realized, confident that at least one of the rounds in Hahneman's leg had done some kind of real damage. _He's limping. He's still running, but he's limping._ Despite his better judgment, Alec stole a glance back and saw Hahneman holding even with him. The cyborg was reaching back slightly, and Alec realized he was going to throw his knife. Under normal circumstances, Alec would have simply sidestepped to his left and hooked around a column; but bleeding the way he was, operating solely on adrenaline, he didn't dare do anything that would break his stride and create a risk of losing his balance and falling. He looked around desperately, wondering at how far away the opposite end of the warehouse suddenly seemed, and was momentarily confused when his gaze settled on one column about thirty feet away. It didn't match any of the others – it was wood while the others were metal, and it had the look of having been added after the rest of the structure was completed. _An extra support,_ Alec decided. _But for what?_ He thought about the second floor of the warehouse, about his meeting with Sergei Ivanov, and a wicked grin broke across his face.

The expression was erased when he felt the tip of Hahneman's blade embed itself in the back of his left shoulder. His arm went numb and he dropped the PPK. He now doubted he could even pick up the Beretta if he reached it, and the desperation of a man facing death – a focused display of energy he had only seen once, in White's death-defying attempt to strangle him – helped him focus in a way he never had before. _"As much as I train you to make the most of what you have, I'll never be able to begin to show you how to tap your true potential," he remembered Lydecker telling a group of X5s twenty years earlier. "Ordinary human beings have been known to move cars with their bare hands, lose both arms on a battlefield and keep fighting, and survive days lost at sea – in the water the whole time – all because of the human mind's resistance to death. When faced with the end, humans are capable of superhuman feats that defy rational explanation and can only be described as the result of adrenaline or some other improbable result of misunderstood biochemistry. The day will come when some of you will face death, and given that you are all superhuman to begin with, I shudder to imagine the things you might accomplish to defy your own mortality."_

Alec didn't stop to ponder the uncomfortable irony of recalling life-saving wisdom spouted by a man he had killed with own two hands. All that mattered was that he understood what Lydecker had been trying to tell them – his pain was gone, his limbs all suddenly seemed to be working, if only for a second, and he felt the strength of ten transgenics. On some level he understood that his feeling of euphoric invulnerability was partially an illusion cast by a mind that was terrified of being extinguished, that the strength he now had was as fleeting as a breeze, and that he would be able to make only one desperate attempt to save himself. He had this one chance, and his mind and body would then be spent.

In that moment, Alec surged forward more swiftly than he ever had. He accelerated so quickly in his final two steps that the air actually stung his eyes, much as he'd always imagined it did with a cheetah that reached full speed. The transgenic gathered himself and launched a flying side kick at the column ahead of him. His foot seemed to crack halfway through the beam before the thick wood absorbed the brunt of the impact – after that it was left to his leg to absorb the rest. He felt his lower leg shatter, felt his ankle dislocate when his foot became momentarily stuck in the beam as his body flew off to the right. His vision went white with the assault of a new wave of pain; the only benefit was that the agony erupting from his leg made him forget about his mangled abdomen.

But even before Alec's body had collapsed in a heap on the floor, he heard the magnificent crack of his kick grow into a shudder. With the last of his energy he began rolling away as the column gave out, raining debris just inches from the prone transgenic. Hahneman had finally caught his prey, arriving before Alec just in time to be buried by the second floor of the warehouse that toppled down upon him. All of it, including the item that had required the extra beam in the first place – Sergei's massive safe.

Alec awoke to the sound of a tugboat's foghorn, and he stirred carefully, wincing as he moved. He glanced down at his stomach, now caked with dried blood, and scolded himself for having over-reacted. The wound was terrible, but apparently not mortal. Hahneman had indeed pierced into Alec's stomach cavity, but the transgenic was certain that given proper medical attention, he would make a full recovery. Of more concern was his right leg. The pain that had assaulted him when he'd dropped kicked what amounted to a telephone pole had not been misleading – his leg had shattered. There were three compound fractures, each of which had caused him to lose a good deal of blood. _No wonder I'm so damn light-headed._ Despite the somewhat disconnected sensation he was still feeling, he couldn't help but marvel that he had been able to crack the beam, no less break it. But he had broken himself in the process, and he was far less certain about his ability to recover from those injuries.

Still laying on the floor, Alec pulled himself up onto his elbows, wincing slightly as the act of repositioning himself caused his leg to move the slightest bit. His left shoulder throbbed, and it was only then that he remembered the knife that Hahneman had embedded in his back. The knife was gone, knocked out when he'd started rolling away from the falling safe, but he added the wound to his mental checklist of injuries. _I'm really gonna have to get to a hospital,_ he told himself, only then realizing how cold he was. _I'm going into shock. I'm lucky as hell I didn't stay unconscious – a little longer and I never would have woken up._ He glanced a few feet away and saw Hahneman's body, folded backwards over itself and pinned under the edge of the safe. A thick pool of blood, only starting to congeal, spread out across the floor, coming within a couple of feet of Alec's face, sickening him with the scent of fresh death. _Not the way I'd like to die._

It took almost half an hour for Alec to drag his broken body across the remaining eighty or so feet to the door. Once outside in the gray pre-dawn light, he continued to move, leaving a thin trail of blood as he strained for every inch that he pulled himself along the docks. Several times he almost gave in, surrendering to the cold darkness that tempted him. _Just rest for a few minutes,_ a voice – he was certain it was White's voice – teased in the back of his mind. _Resting just two or three minutes will give you enough strength to keep crawling for another ten._ Alec knew better; he knew that was the voice of human weakness, of frail mortality tempting him to surrender. "I may die in the middle of the street, but I'll do it while crawling, not while laying here licking my wounds," he gasped, allowing himself no opportunity for even the briefest respite.

"What the fuck?" he heard a voice say from far away, a tinge of an East Coast port accent coloring the words. It was the accent that assured Alec that he had been found – if he'd been dying, if the voice had been God, it would have been an English accent. He'd seen enough movies to know that much. That thought brought a sarcastic smile to his face just as two men knelt over him.

"What the hell happened to you, buddy?" a second man asked in an almost identical tone and accent.

"Need hospital," Alec wheezed.

"My buddy's callin' them right now," the voice assured him. Alec's vision had gone hazy – he could only make out two shapes looming above him. He did hear a third voice, though, this one with a Spanish accent.

"Don't…" Alec mumbled, finding his breath give out before he could complete his sentence. His body shook as he drew in as large a breath as he could. "Don't let… me fall asleep." Another breath. "Shock."

"It's okay," the man assured him. "Doctors are on their way. You're gonna be okay."

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Alec awoke with a start, reflexively wrapping his hand around the familiar grip of the Walther PPK on his bedside nightstand. _He's dead, Alec,_ he assured himself, trying to banish the image of Hahneman that had intruded upon his dream about Jasmine and a new leather outfit she'd brought to the club. Hahneman still danced behind his eyelids, promising a death that Alec couldn't escape, a foe that could never be out-fought. Alec far preferred Jasmine's seductive dancing at the strip club; it held its own danger, but that was a danger he could live with.

_If I hadn't been in that building once before, if I hadn't known the layout and the fact that there was an oversized safe on the second floor…_ It was the same thought he'd had a dozen times a day, every day since he awakened at the hospital, three days after escaping the jaws of death once again. _Forget the jaws of death – I was halfway down the Reaper's gullet._ He'd managed to escape the hospital in the middle of the following night and spent most of the next week in bed, allowing his bones to mend themselves and his stomach to reseal itself.

His wounds had healed, for the most part, and he was increasingly confident that he would make a full recovery. It would still take a little time; even transgenics needed time, especially when they took wounds that would have killed an ordinary, but he would be able to walk, run, and jump to his heart's content. Only the psychological wounds remained.

Alec had always felt that labels like "psychological trauma" and "traumatic stress" were a bunch of crap ordinaries talked about when they wanted to deal with their own weakness. He had never thought he would ever suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. He had never expected to have recurring nightmares while he indulged in necessary, though unusual, sleep. Lydecker never adequately prepared X5s for flashbacks and panic attacks. _I need more time,_ Alec told himself for the thousandth time. _There're ordinaries who suffer from this shit every day, and they get over it. So will I._

In lieu of proper therapy, Alec returned to an exercise he'd decided Lydecker would have recommended – re-living the traumatic experience in his mind. He didn't distance himself from it in his thoughts, though; he relived his encounter with Hahneman in all of its gory, horrifying detail. As he had every other time, Alec felt his body quickly become soaked in sweat. It wasn't that Hahneman was himself very frightening; Alec knew exactly what it was that terrified him – he had never faced an opponent that had so fully overpowered him.

_If I hadn't been in that building once before, if I hadn't known the layout and the fact that there was an oversized safe on the second floor…_ "I'm alive only because I knew the terrain better than Hahneman thought I did." He tried once more to remind himself that knowledge of terrain was an essential element of combat, that taking advantage of terrain to achieve a perhaps undeserved – and thoroughly slapstick – resolution of the encounter was not a cheap victory. The argument did little to assuage his feelings of inadequacy.

_Not even the Familiars ever overwhelmed any of us like that. Hahneman was stronger, faster, and had fucking armor plating under his skin. Seriously… what the fuck? Armor plating? How on Earth…_ "Stop it," he told himself, ordering his mind to refrain from dancing down the increasingly familiar spiral that resulted in despondent insecurity. "I'm lucky to be alive; I admit that. But the fact is that I _am_ alive, and Hahneman isn't. Whether he was stronger, or faster, or whatever doesn't matter, because right now I'm the one who's above ground." Alec found the sound of his own voice soothing, and he didn't bother to try seeing through the false bravado that he'd added. All he wanted was to feel safe, and if he had to lie to himself to feel that way, he would do it.

_Guess it's actually sorta ironic that avenging one woman I loved convinced me that I was born to be a killer, and avenging another convinced me that I should seize the opportunity to give that all up. Not just go through life avoiding dying, but actually live._

_That wetware in Hahneman, though… that was advanced. Only a government could have financed the R & D, collected enough brilliant scientists to make the technology work, installed the components in a living person, and kept it all completely quiet. Guy definitely had military training, too… and an American accent. Another secret super-soldier program?_

_And whether it was our government or some other, Hahneman was bad-ass. Somebody out there was crazy enough to come up with a way to create cybernetic super-soldiers, and being a super-soldier myself, I know that no one is gonna make just one. There are more out there somewhere, and I'm sure as fuck not gonna do anything that could cause me to run into any of them._

_But if he was the product of an American program, it was one that knew about us,_ Alec decided, refusing to just let that train of thought go._ I mean, he **knew** he was facing a transgenic. He was expecting it; and he also knew my first guess would be that he was a Familiar. Between that and his connection with Berrisford… Was it all coincidence, or were our oh-so-qualified elected officials up to something else that maybe even Lydecker didn't know about? Could even our government be stupid enough to keep playing with fire, failure after failure?_

"Forget about it," he mumbled, chasing away curiosity he knew from experience was likely to burn through a few more of his feline DNA's nine lives. _Okay, so Hahneman was a cyborg. Truth is that's none of my business. I'm retiring. In fact, once I feel like I'm back to 100%, I may even leave the country for a little while. I'm gonna start a new life, the kind of life Max always wanted for all of us._ A completely unexpected thought occurred to him. _I think Max would be shocked if she was around to see what I'm gonna do._

For the first time in years, thinking of Max brought a thin – though grim – smile to his face. _It's absolutely insane how much inconvenience, irritation, and pain I caused her. And I never changed…_ The thought kept dancing through Alec's mind, haunting him worse than the words 'half-done' ever had. _This time I _will_ change. No more killing. No more adventures that are likely to get me killed. From now on, I'm gonna be the man that Max – and Rachel, and Keri – thought I could be. After all, it's not just about being a better person; the last thing I need is to run into anyone else like Hahneman._

_To be continued……………………………………_


	11. Leaving the Past Behind

James Cameron and Charles Eglee own Dark Angel. My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is unintended.

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**Leaving the Past Behind**

"Is this seat taken?" a young woman asked. Alec simply waved an inviting hand, not even bothering to look at the beaten-up barstool sitting next to him. He wasn't interested in the alluring female who now hung threateningly close to his personal space. Had she been larger (or male) he might have made some type of threat assessment; but a petite, mid-twenty-something woman didn't concern him enough to draw his attention away from the scotch in his glass. Not even when her voice sounded strangely familiar.

_The half-empty glass of scotch,_ he noted sadly. _Or half-full._ He was tempted to follow that train of thought, but chased it away. He mentally patted himself on the back, comforted by the thought that this time – for the first time – he'd _really_ chased the thought away. He hadn't simply turned tail and run away from it.

_Half-way done._ The words returned briefly to tease him, refusing to flee from his mind as he raised a toast in celebration over his victory. Or at least his survival. Alec was prepared for the words' resilience – he'd been here before, faced this particular challenge. _Half-way done._ He drained his glass, raising it with his right hand to get the bartender's attention, deciding that another celebratory drink was in order. _Half-way done…_ He almost chuckled at his subconscious, now seeming to him like an infant who repeated the same words over and over, unaware that there was so much out there to be experienced and said. _They're only words, and words can't hurt me,_ he assured himself. _Not anymore._ His hand went to his pocket to grab a cigarette, but came away empty as he remembered – for the thousandth time, it seemed to him – that he had quit. Once again, he found he minded that less than he had the time before. _At this rate, in about ten years I won't even think about cigarettes anymore,_ he thought sarcastically.

Almost out of habit, Alec glanced at his watch. 7:30 P.M. _Just another half-hour. Then Jack'll be here. It'll be good to see him again. It's been awhile. But until then, this new bartender will have to do._

"Stay here," Alec muttered to the bartender before the man had even finished topping off the glass. Alec tossed back the freshly topped-off glass and gestured for an immediate refill.

"So what's her name?" Alec heard the young woman next to him ask. He knew she was addressing him – there was no one else close enough to be talking to with the bar so sparsely occupied – but he ignored her, hoping she'd do him the service of melting into the earth and leaving him alone.

"Hey, what's her name?" she continued, touching his arm lightly, as if to get his attention. "Or should I just start guessing this time?" His eyes were upon her the moment her skin touched his jacket, a quick, practiced evaluation intent on proving that she was, in fact, as irrelevant a threat as he'd initially concluded she was.

_No weapons, _he noted immediately. _And she's small… too small to be a threat._ He simply moved his arm away from her, hoping she'd get the message. Though the night was definitely one for a celebration of sorts, celebration was hardly something he felt the need to share with a stranger. He thought he'd gotten his message across, but either he hadn't or she decided to ignore it.

"She must have burned you pretty bad to make you clam up like this," the woman commented. Alec's only response was to gulp down his scotch and raise his glass again, yearning for the next mouthful of happiness. "And to drink like that," the woman added.

"Go away," Alec muttered, completely uninterested with propriety.

"I don't think you want me to go away," the woman replied. "Not this time, anyway," she added almost inaudibly.

"I do," Alec assured her, completely oblivious to her last words. "Get lost."

"If you really wanted to be alone, you could just as easily have told me that the chair was occupied," she reasoned.

"I would have been lying."

"And is that a problem?"

"Look, miss," Alec spat, whirling to face her, his gaze passing over her again. "I --" He lost his words as he locked his eyes on hers, immediately wondering how his first two glances hadn't revealed the sun-bright emeralds that stared back at him. _Those can't be real,_ he reasoned. _They must be contacts or something…_ He searched the edges of her irises but couldn't find the telltale outline of the contact lenses he was certain were present. He suddenly found her to be strikingly familiar as déjà vu slapped him in the face. "Do I know you?"

"We talked for a few minutes a couple of months back," she told him. "You weren't really talkative then, either."

Alec nodded as he suddenly remembered meeting her. "Go away," Alec told her again, just as he had before. "This is a private party."

"A party? Had to have been a woman…" she commented. "Is that why you're doing the James Dean despondent routine?"

Alec ignored her.

"Because you know, whoever she is, she isn't worth it. Even if it's the same one as last time and you're still hung up on her or something."

Alec still ignored her.

"In fact, I don't think _anyone's_ worth the kind of devoted drinking you have going on."

"Why are you still here?" Alec countered. "I told you this is a private party… your blathering isn't welcome." He set his gaze on her and was immediately reminded of why he'd remembered her in the first place. _Hottie with a body…_

"I'm Alec," he said with bit of a nod and an almost imperceptible wave, deciding that he couldn't really go wrong by covering once-traveled ground.

"I know," she answered. "I'm Jana." She smiled broadly, as if she'd just won some incredible prize. "So are you gonna tell me this time, or should I just wait until we bump into each other again in a couple of months?"

"Tell you what?"

"What's her name?"

"Their names," Alec heard his voice reply before he'd taken a moment to consider the possible repercussions of the response_. This might mean a real conversation,_ a panicked part of his mind warned him. _And then an exchange of phone numbers. She might even start to think of you as a friend. Or even more. We can't handle that kind of responsibility. You know what could end up happening._

"_Their_ names?" Jana responded. "More than one, huh?"

"Yeah, more than one…" _I can do this,_ Alec told himself, stifling the irrational fears that had dominated him for over a decade. _I can't keep living in the past, afraid that I'll repeat my mistakes again and again, just as I always have. I have to move on. It's what they would have wanted._

"So…" Jana was prompting.

"Huh?"

"You zoned out for a sec," she told him. "I just asked you what their names are."

"Were," Alec corrected. "They're all dead." He ignored the concerned, awkward stare Jana directed at him. "Their names were Rachel, Max, and Keri."

Fin

****

**Author's Endnote:** Well, that's it. Thanks for reading and reviewing. I have an idea for a sequel, and I've even gone so far as to write a prologue and parts of Chapter 1. However, I honestly don't know whether I have the motivation to write another long Dark Angel story, so I'm not gonna start posting anything unless/until I know I have a good chance of finishing it. And as far as finishing projects goes, I should really go finish my BtVS story, _The Watcher_. I feel very guilty about setting that aside to write this.


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